Visionaries
by Evie Delacourt
Summary: Bishop Duncan McLain, rector of the recently founded Deryni Schola of Saint Camber, finds himself in a position to help unravel a couple of mysteries with the assistance of Father John Nivard, King Kelson's chaplain and Royal Librarian, and Sister Helena ferch Ednyved, a magistra at the Schola and lay sister with the Servants of Saint Camber.
1. Part I--Chapter 1

**Visionaries-Part I**

 _"I saw a dream which made me afraid, and the thoughts upon my bed and the visions of my head troubled me." –Daniel 4:5_

 **Chapter One**

 _St. Camber's Schola, St. Hilary's-Within-The-Walls  
_ _Rhemuth Castle_

 _January 3, 1136_

Bishop Duncan McLain, rector of the Schola of Saint Camber, stood in the doorway of a classroom watching Lady Sophie Arilan as she sat on a floor cushion, her legs folded primly under her skirts, her eyes closed as she led the entry-level pupils in a meditation exercise. He smiled to himself as he watched them. One little boy, the youngest in the class, fidgeted slightly, his freckled nose twitching, and he reached up to scratch it.

Sophie smiled also, though her eyes remained closed. "Try not to focus on the itch, Duncan Michael. Refocus your mind, and just let the outside world drift out of your consciousness again. Remember, you should be letting all conscious thoughts just float away, like leaves floating down a stream. If you can just ignore it and learn to sink deeper into your trance, the itch will go away on its own."

The lad's eyes shot open as he peered intently at his teacher, trying to tell if she'd been peeking at him, before his dark bronze lashes fluttered shut again and he attempted to settle back into a meditative state. His grandfather held back a laugh and continued on, not wanting to risk his son's heir noticing his presence and causing a disruption in the lesson by calling out a greeting. Further down the corridor he stopped again, this time to watch a class of intermediate-level students at practice. Sister Rothana's dark eyes looked up as he approached, and she gave him a quick nod and curtsey of greeting before turning her attention back to her pupils.

Two students stood at opposite ends of a long polished table with raised edges, their gazes fixed on a small ball near the center of it, just a couple of inches to one side of a line that neatly bisected the board. Briony Morgan stood facing him, and the young lad with his back turned to Duncan appeared to be Sir Sextus's squire, Jemmy Kitchener.

As Duncan watched, the ball rolled a few more inches closer to Jemmy's end of the table. Jemmy's eyes fluttered closed briefly. After a moment, the ball slowed, then stopped, wobbling in place briefly before beginning to roll back towards Briony. Duncan watched as a determined glint flared in the girl's eyes, and a moment later the ball faltered in its course and began to roll back towards Jemmy once more. The bishop stifled a grin. He'd seen that expression before; he privately called it Alaric's "I'll be damned if I let you win!" look. Duncan tucked the memory away to share with his cousin later.

As he turned away, the bishop considered the rest of the day's schedule. The advanced scholars had not arrived yet, for their guest lecturer, Bishop Denis Arilan, would not be able to get away from his duties in Dhassa to teach in Rhemuth's Schola until later that afternoon. At the moment, those students were either engaged in private study or attending to their other duties. A few were squired to Nigel or various other knights currently residing at the Castle or in the City of Rhemuth, for while Duncan had managed to arrange for Prince Azim and several Knights of the Anvil to teach the occasional class in military applications for Deryni powers, he had not yet managed to secure a full-time master-at-arms to provide daily training in the basics of sword fighting and archery. He was still looking over applicants for that position, and one of those interviews had been scheduled for later in the day. Fortunately it would be an easier office to fill than most, as a fighting master need not be Deryni to qualify for the post, he simply needed to be highly skilled in the arts of war and patient enough to teach young scholars from a variety of backgrounds, some of whom had already been given an early exposure to the military arts and others who had never hefted a sword. Part of him regretted the necessity of hiring a fighting master at all, yet with one in permanent residence and on the Schola's faculty it would be easier to persuade reluctant fathers to allow their sons to attend Rhemuth's Schola and train in the magical arts. Young men—young noblemen, at any rate—were expected to know how to wield sword and shield in defense of their kingdom, after all, so some families were reluctant to allow their sons, especially the older ones, to devote themselves to years of scholarship when they could be fostered out as pages and squires to knights or great lords instead. Nigel had been willing to take some of the earlier students into the Royal household, but as the Schola continued to grow, he could hardly continue to do so for every lord's son.

Duncan gave a silent sigh, wishing he knew more about how Deryni schools were organized in Camber's time and earlier. There were so few records from those earlier times left anymore; many of them had either been burned or, if not deliberately destroyed, had not survived the ravages of time. Both the Michaelines and the Gabrilites had taught Deryni students along with their human scholars, but it was more difficult to figure out a satisfactory curriculum for a schola dedicated to the magical arts that wasn't built around a knight's order. He felt at times like he needed to build up this new schola practically from the foundation single-handedly.

Well, not quite single-handedly. Seeing two figures approach, the rector's face lit up with a smile of welcome. The taller of the two new arrivals grinned back, glancing down at a pile of books and scrolls in his arms. "Where would you like me to put these?"

"In my study," Duncan answered Father Nivard, reaching for the key on his belt as he turned to lead them back in that direction. John's assistance had been vital in helping him bring the Schola as far as it had come in these first early years, providing valuable insights and advice as they worked together to brainstorm what ideas might work here in Rhemuth and which ones were less likely to yield good results. Princess Rothana had been part of that process too, as well as Brother Everard, who had come to the Schola along with the Servants of Saint Camber who had been found several years earlier at St. Kyriell's.

The woman walking beside Father Nivard now had been a relative latecomer to their Schola, but once she'd arrived, she too had quickly become a valued colleague and resource. As he unlocked the door to his study, he turned to smile at her.

"I'm surprised you've not made off with John's loot already, Sister Helena."

She laughed, vibrant blue eyes dancing with delight in a face framed by the snowy white wimple and veil worn by the married women and widows among the Servants of Saint Camber. "I would have, but the King made me promise you'd get first look at the treasure trove." As Father John set the small stack of documents down on a table, she picked up a scroll from the collection. "These were recently discovered in the archives at the University of Grecotha. They're various records and account rolls- this one is a list of accounts for St. Liam's Abbey's schola in the year 908, and that book with the green cover is the personal journal and study notes of a Deryni healer who studied at St. Neot's." She set the scroll back down again, absently wiping dust off her fingers onto the gray Servants robe she wore.

Duncan grinned. Account rolls might not be the most stimulating reading, but a careful study of them might offer some valuable information nonetheless about what the faculty at St. Liam's had considered essentials for an institution of higher learning. And as for a journal of any Deryni scholar which had managed to escape being put to the torch, _that_ was priceless! A sobering thought occurred to him, wiping the grin off his face. He hoped that the scholar, like his writing, had also managed to escape burning.

Then again, one of Sister Helena's particularly strong gifts was her ability to sense psychic impressions left behind on objects, even when those impressions were too weak to be detected by some others, even those far better trained in the arcane arts than Duncan. Most Deryni shared this talent to some extent, of course, but Helena's receptivity to such psychic imprints was more acute than most. Every Deryni, Duncan had learned over the years, possessed his or her own quite individual areas of strength and weakness, despite their mutually shared gifts. And there were a few gifts, such as Healing, that were truly rare even among the Deryni race.

"Did you pick up any impressions of the journal's owner?" he asked, casting a curious glance at his colleague.

"Oh, certainly! Only bits and snatches, though. He certainly didn't experience anything too exciting or traumatic while actually holding the book or writing in it—I didn't pick up anything of _that_ sort—but I can show you what I read from it." He took the hand she held out to him, clasping it lightly, and in the space of a heartbeat the impressions flooded into his mind. He'd been young, the Deryni scholar, perhaps just entering full manhood. Duncan had a swift impression of an earnest personality, eager to learn, a bit overwhelmed at times by the amount of new information he was struggling to assimilate, even though he took great pleasure in his studies. He'd been quite fond of several of his teachers, in reverent awe of some others, yet there was one he found difficult to tolerate. As to what the young healer looked like, that was less clear, for of course the owner of the journal rarely had occasion to view himself directly, but Duncan thought he'd caught a brief memory of nimble fingers tidying up a dark four-stranded braid, not at all dissimilar to the style of braid favored by their current brethren among the Servants of Saint Camber.

The bishop released Helena's hand, pondering those shared impressions. It seemed odd to be reliving, if only briefly and rather foggily, a few of the memories of a young man who had lived and died over two centuries earlier. The brief flash of insight felt like a gift to be treasured, even as he valued the document that had been imprinted with the resonance that had allowed it.

"Thank you," he said to her.

"You're quite welcome." She gave him a wry smile. "Just promise me you'll never send me to the ruins of St. Neot's to gather impressions for you there!"

He shook his head, chuckling slightly at the grim jest. The ruins of St. Neot's had been unsettling enough for him when he'd briefly visited its ruins with Alaric during their younger years, at the beginning of Kelson's reign. He could easily understand, given Helena's particular talents, why she might consider a pilgrimage to that desecrated abbey about as enjoyable as a summer holiday in some warm and cozy borderland of Hell.

#

"So, what did you think about the candidate you interviewed this afternoon?" Alaric Morgan leaned back in one of the bishop's comfortable chairs, sipping at his Vezairi port, gray eyes trained on his cousin. Duncan, leaning against the wall next to the hearth, looked thoughtful.

"William Fitz Ewan? I liked him. I think he'd do a good job as fighting master."

"But?" Morgan raised a sandy eyebrow.

Duncan grinned. "Earl Burchard might come after my blood if I hire one of his best knights out from under him, you know." He sobered. "I think Sir William might end up being my best choice despite that, although he's got stiff competition for the position. I'd been looking at one of the Anvillers for it, did you know?"

Morgan nodded. "I'd heard. But I was also given to understand he'd only be able to make a part time commitment to the post. Would that suffice?"

"It would suffice, yes, but it wouldn't be my first preference." Duncan weighed the two options in his mind a few moments longer, then smiled at his cousin. "So it seems I might be putting the offer to your brother-in-law after all. Will Richenda be glad to see her baby brother in residence here in Rhemuth?"

Alaric snorted. "Hell, yes! She'd be able to see him more often. She'll be ecstatic."

The door opened, and a younger man peeked in, smiling broadly when he saw them both. Duncan straightened with a grin of his own, crossing his study to welcome his son. "Happy birthday, Dhugal! Why aren't you with Mirjana and the children?"

The young duke chuckled. "Oh, I've been run off. They're planning some sort of surprise I'm not meant to know about."

Duncan exchanged a glance with Alaric. "Oh, are they?" The lack of surprise in his voice turned his son's chuckle into a laugh.

"Oh yes, and the Queen and Duchess Meraude appear to be in on it also, so who am I to disobey when they've issued me a direct order to go find somewhere else to be?"

Alaric's gray eyes held an amused sparkle. "Indeed. I'd say retreat is the best option if the Haldane ladies are involved in the plot." He gestured to the flask in his hand. "Port?"

A copper-bronze eyebrow rose, and Dhugal helped himself to a goblet on his father's personal aumbry. "Exile is starting to look better already." He held the goblet out towards Alaric, who filled it from his flask, and took a careful sip. "Vezairi port, Alaric?"

"Yes. So watch your intake; I don't want your wife angry with me for having to haul you up the stairs as you're waking the entire Castle, singing at the top of your lungs and quite badly."

Dhugal took a spare seat. "And how would that be different from my usual attempts at singing?"

Duncan smiled down at his son. "It wouldn't be."

"Not true," a soft voice in one corner of the study spoke up for the first time that hour, startling the bantering men. "I've heard His Grace sing, and while it's probably for the best that he's the Duke of Cassan instead of a troubadour, he can carry a tune well enough, even without a bucket."

The bishop chuckled. "There you have it, Dhugal. That was praise, I think. Of a sort." He crossed the room to peer down at what the lone woman in the room was studying. "Forgive me, Sister Helena; I'd all but forgotten you were still here. What have you been so engrossed in?"

"I'm not entirely sure, Father." Auburn brows furrowed over the fragment of parchment she held. "There's hardly anything left of this, though I'm hoping that whatever larger work it was torn from will turn up somewhere else in the stack. And the text seems to be in Ancient Torenthi, which I'm afraid I can't read; can you?"

Alaric Morgan rose to join them, his curiosity piqued. "I might be able to make it out. Or if not, Richenda might. May I see it?"

Helena angled the scrap of parchment to face him. "There's also that square made up of smaller, numbered blocks, down near the bottom. Or at least I think that's what the diagram is meant to depict, though a part of the lower right corner has been torn off. What does that look like to you?"

"They're Eastern style numerals," Duncan observed.

"Yes, so they are, but I was referring to the pattern itself. See how some of the squares have been shaded in, while others have been left empty except for their numbering? And are you seeing what I'm seeing about the order of those numbers?"

Dhugal joined his father and cousin to peer down at the manuscript fragment. After a moment, just as the two older men's eyes met with dawning understanding, he whistled softly. "Jesú! Is it a ward pattern?"

Helena shrugged. "That's just a guess, but it appears to be. But if so, it's not the standard Wards Major pattern I'm familiar with." She looked up at Alaric. "What does the text above it say, Your Grace?"

He shook his head. "It's _not_ in Torenthi, either modern or ancient, or if it is, it's in some dialect of the tongue that I'm not familiar with, though several of the words are quite similar." He pointed to the top of the page. "These words, for example, I think I can make out, though I couldn't say what the phrase means..." His gaze lifted to meet hers. "It's something about 'the mathematical principles underlying magic,' or that's the general gist anyway." His excitement rising, he glanced at his cousin. "I think Prince Azim should take a look at this."

Duncan nodded. "I agree." He turned to his colleague. "An intriguing find, Sister Helena. Though tell me, have you had supper yet?"

She smiled sheepishly, glancing down at the manuscripts on his study table. "I...seem to have forgotten again."

"That's what I thought." He chuckled. "The manuscripts will wait, you know."

She ran her fingertips lightly over the cover of one bound volume, her expression wistful. "I know." Helena sighed, rising from her bench and stretching to relieve her cramped muscles. "it's just...there's so much, Father, just waiting to be discovered..."

Her stomach growled, and he laughed. "Discover it tomorrow, then. Enough study for one day. You've a lesson to teach tomorrow too, you know, and the servers are probably clearing away all the food from the refectory right now, so if you hope to eat tonight, you'd better grab what's left while you still can."

She yawned, suddenly exhausted. "Yes, and I've lessons to attend as well before I can come back here tomorrow." A sudden thought struck her. "Will you be here in the late afternoon, Father Duncan, or should I return some other day?"

"I should be here, though if I'm not, Brother Everard can let you in."


	2. Part I--Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

 _Bishop Duncan's study, St. Hilary's Basilica  
_ _January 4, 1136_

"How did your son's birthday celebration go yesterday evening?"

Duncan looked up from his study of Saint Liam's Abbey's ancient account rolls to meet Sister Helena's questioning gaze. He smiled. "Quite well. The ladies outdid themselves with the decorations and refreshments, not to mention the presents, and the children put together a birthday present of their own." He grinned. "They wrote a biography of him."

"A biography?" Helena's blue eyes twinkled with amusement. "That's quite an undertaking, even though Duke Dhugal _is_ only twenty-eight. Your eldest grandchild is only six, isn't he?"

"Yes, though the MacArdry children were in on the making of it, so he had help from a nine-year-old. Almost nine, at least. I think young Ciaran's birthday is coming up in another couple of days. He did the actual writing of it; the younger children mainly illustrated the story...after a fashion. And Duncan Michael dictated most of the narrative. It's...a _unique_ slant on Dhugal's life..." He chuckled.

Helena laughed. "I'd love to see it!"

"I'm sure Dhugal would be glad to show it to you. Or perhaps Mirjana, once she works out how to scrub the ink stains off Jared's foot."

An arched auburn eyebrow. "Do I dare ask?"

Duncan shrugged. "Well, he's the baby of the group, and too young to help with the artwork, so apparently Trina simply painted his right foot with ink, had him step on one of the book's pages, and that was his contribution to the group effort."

"Oh, dear!" His colleague giggled. "That's probably just going to have to wear off in time."

"That's what I thought too. At least the ink dried quickly; either that or the children got a shoe back on his foot before he had a chance to go running all through Dhugal's chambers leaving footprints behind everywhere." Duncan grinned as Helena gave up attempting to study the documents before her and buried her face in her hands, laughing heartily at the image he sent her way.

"You know," she told him once she'd regained her composure, her voice wistful, "you're so blessed to have them, Father Duncan."

He nodded, a slight smile still lingering at the corners of his mouth. "Yes. You're right, I am." He watched her thoughtfully for a moment as she went back to her work. She'd been married once, and if he remembered aright what he'd learned of her life prior to her arrival at the Schola, her marriage had lasted at least a decade, perhaps slightly longer. Yet she'd had no children, despite her love for them which had become evident as she'd settled into a teaching role at the Schola, and her late husband's lands had been passed down to a brother after his death. Helena herself had left her former home almost immediately after her brother-in-law had been installed as its new baron, preferring instead to pursue a scholar's life as a novice at the Sisters of Saint Jerome convent in Joux at first, then later joining the Servants of Saint Camber once the new Schola in Rhemuth had been established, rather than remain in her late husband's barony as its Dowager Baroness. She spoke very little of those earlier years in her life, though Duncan had gleaned from her rare references to it that her experience with the sacrament of matrimony had not been a particularly happy one. He wondered now if her childlessness had been a factor in that unhappiness.

Duncan found himself wondering how a wealthy merchant's daughter from Llannedd had ended up married to a nobleman from Joux, but it seemed too personal a question to ask. And it would be best, he thought, if he didn't allow himself to take too personal an interest in this woman who had shown up at the Schola half a decade before, at first to add to her own knowledge but eventually also to teach. Certainly it would be safest for him to steer well clear of a deeper friendship with her than he enjoyed already.

His eyes drifted to Catriona's lap harp, gathering dust in a corner of the room. No, friendships with women were permissible for him, but they could become problematic as well. He had a responsibility not to become too emotionally involved with another member of the fairer sex, no matter if at times he found himself becoming intrigued despite himself with the mysteries that lay behind this particular brilliant mind. A friendly relationship was fine, but he mustn't allow himself to grow too attached. He'd learned that lesson the hard way.

The chapel bells rang thrice. Helena looked up, startled.

"Oh, mercy, I'd better fly! Sister Therese is teaching a class on medicinal herbs useful for preventing infections, and I don't want to miss that." She gathered up her notes, stacking them neatly beside the more ancient texts she'd been perusing for Duncan to look over later at his convenience. "Will you be attending Master Janos's class later, Father Duncan, or will you be back from your Council meeting in time?"

Master Janos was one of King Liam's healers, on temporary loan to the Schola from the Torenthi Royal Household. Kelson himself had arranged for the Torenthi healer to come train the few known Healers in Gwynedd, and Liam had agreed to allow him to share of his knowledge, if only for short visits at a time. Even the few remaining Torenthi healers engaged by their Royal Household had lost a great deal of Healing knowledge since the days of the Gabrilite and Varnarite scholas, yet their training in the nearly lost art was still greater than Duncan's and Alaric's, self-taught as those two Gwyneddan Healers had been, so they were glad to learn what they could from Master Janos as long as Liam could spare his services. Dhugal had also made a point of arranging his schedule so he could be in Rhemuth during most of Master Janos's brief visits.

"Yes, the King is aware that Master Janos will be visiting this evening. He's agreed to allow Alaric, Dhugal, and me to leave the meeting a bit early if it goes on longer than expected. I don't expect that it will, though." He paused. "Will you be there?" It had been Helena's Healing gift, emerging unexpectedly while she was still at St. Jerome's, that had initially led her to seek further training and knowledge at the Schola. She'd already received most of her formal training in the Deryni arts years before. That was what had brought her to Joux initially, in that brief span of years between her childhood and her marriage.

"I wouldn't miss it."

Duncan nodded, satisfied. Helena's healing gift was not particularly strong—either that, or perhaps he simply hadn't learned the best way of conveying the necessary knowledge and skills to her yet for utilizing that gift most effectively—but she was a diligent student and her abilities as a healer had grown since the Torenthi Healer had started paying regular visits to the Schola to share his knowledge. Helena still had difficulty with Healing any but the most clearly visible of surface wounds, and Master Janos's patient tutelage of her in the basics of muscular and skeletal anatomy—lessons that Dhugal had gained early on in his youth during his training as a battle surgeon and that Duncan and Alaric had both picked up to some extent due to having seen and treated battle injuries in more conventional ways even before they'd known about their own Healing gifts—was beginning to pay off in helping Sister Helena to visualize more easily what lay beneath the surface level of an injury.

#

The class on medicinal herbs was not taught in the Schola itself, but in the Castle gardens, inside the small conservatory recently built for Queen Araxie to provide shelter for several imported species of plants from gentler climes, for in addition to the regular Schola students, several other ladies in residence had expressed an interest in learning from Sister Therese about this vital subject, for the knowledge of herbal medicine, or "simples" as it was often called, was considered an essential part of a woman's education. The lady of a household was generally expected to know at least the basics of tending to her family's medicinal needs—those herbs that were most effective for fighting off colds and fevers, easing headaches and minor injuries—so that a physician's services need only be called for in times of greater necessity. Such knowledge was generally passed down from mother to daughter rather than formally taught, therefore some women had only a rudimentary knowledge of such arts, while others had been fortunate enough to gain a great deal of knowledge, whether from paying careful heed to their mothers' wisdom in their girlhood years, or else from harder-gained experience in later life. So Sister Therese, formerly an infirmarian at the Convent of Saint Cecilia near Nyford before she'd requested and received a dispensation to leave her former cloister and join the Schola's magisterial staff, had graciously offered to make this series of classes open to any lady at the Castle who expressed an interest in hearing her lectures.

Sister Helena made her way over to a stone bench that still had an empty corner available. As she approached, Duchess Richenda smiled up at her, scooting over a few inches to ensure there would be room enough for a third person on the bench. On Richenda's other side, Princess Rothana leaned forward to give Helena a nod of greeting before returning her attention to their teacher. Helena settled onto the seat, glad for the steady warmth radiating from a nearby brazier.

"Some of these herbs and spices can readily be found in your own kitchen gardens, or at your local spice merchant's shop," Sister Therese was saying as Helena focused her mind on the lecture in progress. "Garlic, thyme, ginger, cinnamon, basil, oregano...I'm certain I needn't show you an illustration of any of those; they're all common enough. And added on a regular basis to one's stews and soups, they can have a beneficial effect on health, so urge your cooks to make frequent use of such health-boosting herbs and spices as often as possible, if they aren't already. Of course, there are times when simply eating healthy and flavorful food isn't quite enough to stave off infection, or we'd all be healthy as horses just from having the benefit of meals in the Schola's refectory or at King Kelson's table." There was a ripple of appreciative laughter. The infirmarian smiled at Kelson's queen before continuing on. "What of those occasions when illness has already set in, or an injury has occurred, and one wishes to fight off a greater likelihood of infection?"

She held up a bottle filled with a golden liquid infused with herbs. "This is a sample of _Vinaigre de Quatre Voleurs_ , imported from Bremagne, but you can easily make a similar potion in your own kitchens. It is merely an infusion in vinegar of a variety of herbs, such as the ones I mentioned earller, which have known properties of fighting off infection. In addition to those I've already mentioned, such an infusion might also contain the following…." She paused to allow the ladies time to open up their wax tablet books and ready their styluses before continuing. "Sage, wormwood, lavender, rosemary, chives, onions, and leeks. Cloves, cumin, nutmeg, and bee balm can also be used. Obviously, there will be a limit to how much one can fit into a bottle, but one can pick and choose according to availability and tastes. This concoction can be applied to external wounds, but if one restricts the infusion to kitchen herbs, then a daily dose of the infusion taken internally would add to the benefits." She shook her finger at them with a cautionary smile. "I would not, however, go tossing just any old herb into the potion and then ingest it unless you're absolutely certain that everything you've put in is healthy to drink! Our goal is to make a medication, not a poison. So if in doubt, leave it out. Also, if you're planning to ingest the vinegar, use ingredients such as wormwood or nutmeg sparingly; in excess, they can promote strange fancies and disturbing visions. If in doubt, ask a physician for suggestions as to proper dosage."

She unstoppered the bottle, taking a sniff of its contents before passing it around for her students to sample. "Now, _this_ particular mixture is comprised of garlic, sage, rosemary, thyme, mint, lavender, and wormwood infused in a cider vinegar, though wine vinegar works as well and might be more easily obtained. Why do the Bremagni call this the _Vinegar of Four Thieves_ , you might be asking? According to legend, the recipe originated with four thieves who used it to stave off pestilence while looting corpses in a plague town. Obviously I don't recommend testing the recipe's efficacy by entering a quarantined town looking to get wealthy, even if you bathe in this and consume it by the gallon first. It's possible your results will vary." She grinned at the women's laughter. "As with anything else, apply common sense along with any medication."

"Now, for external wounds, one can grind garlic into a paste. Dab a bit of olive oil on the site first to protect the skin—if you lack olive oil, then almond oil or some other fresh oil will work as well—and then dab the paste on top of that, covering the wound with a clean cloth for an hour to protect the wound and allow time for the paste to work, but don't leave it on past that time..."

 _Then serve the patient with a red wine vinaigrette_ , Helena Mind-Spoke somewhat irreverently, sharing the thought with the duchess beside her.

Richenda bit her lip, stifling a laugh. _I was just thinking about Alaric's probable reaction if I were to start slathering him with garlic and oil. The need would have to be extreme._ The Duchess of Corwyn's cornflower-blue eyes flitted back over the list of herbs Sister Therese had supplied _. Perhaps an infusion of rosemary and lavender in almond oil would be more agreeable where husbands are concerned_ , she added, a hint of mischief lurking in her eyes. _Massaged into all exposed skin nightly, purely for medicinal purposes, of course. Perhaps at bedtime would be best._

 _Of course_ , Helena teased silently, _though you'd do best to strain it well. Prickly rosemary leaves rubbed into sensitive places might have a less than desirable effect._ She smiled at her seatmate, stifling a twinge of sorrow, happy for the duchess's good fortune yet wistfully reminded of her own far less blissful marriage. From outward appearances, anyway, the Duke and Duchess of Corwyn appeared to have a very congenial marriage based as much on love as mutual benefit. It was the sort of marriage that Helena had dreamed of once, long ago in the naïve innocence of girlhood.

Then again, she mused, the duchess beside her had given her husband heirs aplenty. Perhaps that's why he seemed to have such a fond regard for her. Heirs meant everything to a man, Helena knew. Her late husband had hardly gone a day without reminding her of his lack.

Helena forced her mind back to Sister Therese's lesson.

#

After the lesson had ended, Duchess Richenda turned towards Sister Helena. "Seeing you here reminds me, I have something in my chambers for you. Might I send Briony along with it later?"

"Certainly, and thank you! Will Briony be attending Master Janos's workshop tonight?"

The duchess hesitated briefly. "I think Alaric had planned to bring her along. Or is tonight's lesson the one about the treatment of malfunctions and injuries to the generative parts? If it is, Alaric and I think it might be best to wait until Briony is a little bit older for that one."

Helena looked startled. She reviewed the course schedule in her mind, giving a sigh of relief as she realized the topic Richenda had referred to was still a week off. "No, tonight's the discussion of head injuries; you're thinking of next week's discussion topic. And I believe he's planning on splitting that class into two groups anyway, to avoid some of the potential...um...awkwardness." She sent Richenda a brief, imagined image of twelve year old Briony, eyes wide with shock, attempting to listen with adult nonchalance as the Healer Master launched into a detailed discussion of how to visualize and perform hands-on healing of reproductive systems while her father, their cousin the Bishop, and their other cousin the Duke of Cassan all stared fixedly at the Torenthi lecturer, attempting to ignore the fact that there were females, one a maiden not even of full adult age yet, in the room. Richenda chuckled at the mental tableau, nodding her head. "Yes, that's exactly the sort of awkwardness I envisioned, and I couldn't imagine Briony would learn too much if she spent the entire hour being mortified. She knows full well where babies come from, of course, but at her age, it's all still a bit too 'icky' for her to want to think about. I figure in a year or two she'll have reached the stage when the topic suddenly becomes a lot more interesting, or at least less embarrassing." She paused, reconsidering her idea. "If I hold Briony back, though, will that mean Master Janos will simply tutor you on the topic individually next week? There aren't any other female Healers at the Schola besides the two of you yet, are there?"

Helena shook her head. "Sister Therese has expressed an interest in sitting in, though. Even though she's human, some of the information Master Janos plans to present could prove valuable to her nonetheless."

"Hm. Well, perhaps in an all-woman class, Briony might find the topic less embarrassing. I'll have a word with Alaric tonight and see what he thinks." Richenda smiled as she tucked her wax tablet book into her belt pouch. "I need to go; Meraude's expecting me. But I'll send that parcel with Briony this evening."

#

Duncan McLain looked up as the young page wearing the Haldane tabard knocked on his study door politely before entering the room. The boy bowed before offering a folded message to the Schola's rector. Duncan took the note, giving the wax seal a cursory glance and a brief examination with his psychic senses. It was a normal seal, no hidden message concealed within it. He cracked the wax, unfolding the parchment.

He frowned slightly as he read the letter's contents. The message it contained was disappointing but unsurprising. He sighed, tucking it under his cincture, and nodded to the boy. "Thank you, son."

The boy fidgeted uncertainly. "Do you wish me to convey a message back, my lord bishop?"

"No, that won't be necessary. You may return to your duties."

"Yes, Father." The boy gave another respectful bow before backing out of the room. Duncan glanced out the window towards the castle gardens. A moment later, he spotted the young page, sturdy young legs conveying him back to the Great Hall at a run. The child's energy made him smile, lightening for a moment the mood that had settled on him when he'd read the unwelcome letter.

#

"I have a task for you," he told Sister Helena once she'd returned from her class in the castle garden, one of the Basilica cats circumnavigating her ankles with a frantic purr. "And I'm afraid you're not going to like it."

"Oh dear, that sounds ominous," she commented as she scooped the beast up, scratching its head absently. The cat purred even louder. "What sort of task?"

Duncan's eyes flitted to the deliriously happy feline, distracted. "He sounds like a beehive. What did you do out there, roll in catnip?" He pulled the letter from his cincture but continued to hold it, loathe to dispel her cheerful mood.

She laughed. "Not exactly, but there was some catnip and peppermint growing next to the bench where I sat, and yes, I'm sure my robe hem must have brushed against some." Helena's gaze dropped to the message he held, then back to his face. "Bad news, Father?"

He shrugged. "Nothing we didn't already expect was coming." He handed her the letter. Helena shifted the cat she held to free up one arm so she could take it. He chuckled. "Here, let me rid you of that beast." He took the cat, holding him at a slight distance from his body to avoid getting a coating of cat hairs on his cassock, and walked towards the doorway, setting the feline down and sending it on its way with an encouraging mental prompt. "Scoot." The cat did, somehow managing to convey his disgruntlement with a quick glare back at the bishop, but then the flutter of insect wings flitting by drew its attention, and it bounded away, off to pursue other pleasures. The bishop chuckled and returned to his study. Helena had finished the letter and, as he'd expected, looked upset.

"Isn't there something we can do for Ædwige, Father?" she asked as soon as he returned. "She's a quick, bright scholar, and she's got just under a year left to go in her training! And she's made such progress in this past year. Surely, if we explain to her father how far she's come along, he'll allow her to stay at the Schola just a short while longer..."

Duncan sighed. "I've already spoken to him about that. His mind remains unchanged. Her suitor wants a wedding now, not in a year." Privately he felt dismayed as well—the girl was barely into full womanhood, while her bridegroom was nearly sixty and had already worn out two brides in childbed in his hopes of producing an heir who would survive long enough to inherit after him—but the girl's family had agreed to the betrothal and the vows had been exchanged already. He'd already managed to persuade her father to wait until after the maiden's sixteenth birthday for that much, but that birthday had come and gone shortly after Christmas, and no one but the maiden herself was inclined to wait any longer for the nuptials to take place.

Helena flung up her arms, the message fluttering in the air she stirred up with her gesture of exasperation. "She's got amazing potential, but does her father even _care_ about that? No, he simply wants to barter his breed stock off to the highest bidder!" Tears moistened her blue eyes. She blinked them away angrily, gathering control of her emotions. "So, I'm to break the news to her then?"

He nodded, his expression sympathetic. "You're her magistra; I think she'd take it best coming from you. Tell her this needn't be the end of her training, though. If her new husband will allow her to return at some later time, even for short visits, I'll make a place for her in the program." Duncan shrugged. " _He_ may be amenable, you know. I'm told he's been willing to wait this long for her because he wants a Deryni wife. Surely he'd want her fully trained as well, at least at some point."

"You mean he sees the advantage of having Deryni sons, and the only way he can hope to get those is by hitching himself to a Deryni mare!" She closed her eyes, visibly reining in her temper. "I'm sorry, Father. I know I'm out of line."

"Understandably so." He laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. "We gave Ædwige a good foundation, Helena."

She nodded. "Yes. Yes, we did, I suppose."

She looked so forlorn. Duncan longed to comfort her as he might comfort one of his grandchildren, by gathering her into a consoling hug, but Helena was no child, and certainly not young enough to be any child of _his_ , given the mere eight years separating their ages. With some other woman, he might not have hesitated; certainly, like most priests, he'd lent a listening ear and understanding heart to many a sorrowing or grief-stricken woman, had even held a rare few while they cried, if he'd sensed that's what they needed most in those moments. But with this one, he was still struggling within himself to find that proper balance between friendly affection and decorous distance. He gave her shoulder an awkward pat. "I think she's upstairs in the maidens' dormitorium."

Helena sighed. "I'll go tell her, then."

#

It was a much more subdued Helena who showed up for Master Janos's lesson on the proper diagnosis and treatment of head injuries, though she spared a quick smile as Briony Morgan spotted her and crossed the small chamber to bob a polite curtsey of greeting. Briony held out a wrapped bundle.

"Good evening, Magistra Helena. Mother says these are for you, and they're the gowns she was telling you about a fortnight past. She says the dark blue should suit splendidly for the upcoming Twelfth Night revels."

"Thank you, dear." She took the offered present. "Please tell Duchess Richenda that I'm truly grateful, and that I'm well aware this is yet another of her sneaky ploys to lure me away from my books."

The girl laughed. "Of course it is, but Twelfth Night is a night for having fun, not for studies!"

Helena chuckled. "Studies _are_ fun. I know your mother well enough to know she'd not dispute _that_." She sat, setting the bundle of clothing down on her lap and stealing a peek under its protective wrapping at the folded garments within. "But I can take a hint. Especially one as lovely as this blue silk!" She gave Briony a grin. "Who am I to argue with her methods of persuasion?"

Richenda's daughter grinned back. "The other two gowns are cut from more practical cloth, but Mother says they should serve for those occasions when you need something other than your Schola robes."

Not to mention they'd probably be closer to the current style in Rhemuth, as well as closer to her current size, Helena thought as she set the parcel gently on the floor beside her feet. She'd been painfully thin when she'd first taken refuge with the Sisters of Saint Jerome, and they'd nursed her back to physical health in addition to nurturing her weary mind and damaged spirit. When she'd discovered her Healing gift and had taken leave of the convent to seek further training at the Schola, they'd sent her off with supplies for her journey, lovingly made, but that had been several years ago, and despite her rare use of her other clothing since her arrival at the Schola, those few modest gowns had eventually grown faded with wear, strained at the seams due to the additional weight that renewed health had settled upon her frame, and unsuitable for Court use, especially at such formal occasions as Twelth Night. The Duchess, upon hearing from Sister Therese that Helena had planned to spend the evening of festivities once again ensconced in the Basilica study with her musty old tomes since she'd not had clothing suitable to wear to a revel, had intervened, bless her generous heart!

The Torenthi Healer entered the room. Beside her, Briony sat up straighter, her cheeks turning slightly rosy as the man found his place at the head of the class, quietly directing his apprentice in the placement of several books and a large coffer that they'd brought with them from the Healer's primary office at King Liam's Court in Torenthály. Helena suppressed her amusement as the girl beside her nervously brushed an imaginary wrinkle out of her skirts, her body tense with eager anticipation. She could hardly blame the girl for having developed a tendresse for the handsome young Magister; as a maiden of Briony's age, Helena had been stricken with a bad case of calf love for a local blacksmith, of all people! She'd been realistic enough even at twelve to know that _that_ would never come to anything, of course, but that hadn't stopped her from craning her head and staring wistfully whenever some errand had taken her within bowshot of Ironmonger's Row in Pwyllheli.

"The brain is a remarkable organ, delicately fragile yet in some ways amazingly resilient..." Helena turned her attention to the Healer's musically accented voice as he began his lesson, all other concerns temporarily banished as she and the other Healers in training drew from his wellspring of knowledge.


	3. Part I--Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

 _Rhemuth Castle  
January 6, 1136—Twelfth Night Revels_

Duncan McLain stood slightly apart in Kelson's Great Hall watching the post-feast revelry, a faint smile on his face. He was not here in any official capacity tonight, simply as an observer and participant in the general celebration, so he had left off his robes of episcopal purple for the evening and had even managed to avoid clerical black, settling instead for a tunic of midnight blue silk-lined velvet that he rarely wore but sometimes trotted out for special occasions. Only his bishop's ring remained to remind those he mingled with of his rank as Rhemuth's Auxiliary Bishop, and on this occasion he preferred it that way. There were a few folk, mostly those who only knew him from afar, who felt inhibited about engaging in revelry in a priest's presence, much less a bishop's, as if they thought the clergy merely showed up at such events to frown in disapproval and stand in spiritual judgment over them for their merrymaking. And certainly some revelers' preferred methods of merrymaking might lead to immoderate and even immoral behavior, but it wasn't Duncan's purpose to dampen anyone's enjoyment of the festivities by his presence this night. No, like everyone else, he too needed a bit of recreation from time to time to dispel the cares and worries of daily life for a few precious hours.

Across the room, he caught a glimpse of Alaric and Richenda, and as if drawn by his gaze, Richenda turned her head at that moment to intercept his look. She smiled, turning to say something to her husband briefly before heading Duncan's way.

"You look quite handsome tonight," she murmured approvingly as he inclined his head in greeting once she'd reached his side. "I caught a glimpse of you early on in Court during the knighting ceremony, but I didn't see you after that or at the feast; were you caught up in Schola business again?"

"Father John and I both, although we managed to make it back in time to change into our Court finery and catch the last few courses served. I think I've managed to keep him from escaping back to the Royal Library, so if you catch him lurking in some corner of the Hall looking lost and out of his depth, have mercy on the poor man and help him find his feet."

Richenda laughed. "I'll keep an eye out for him. Do you suppose Father John knows how to dance?"

Duncan grinned. "I haven't a clue. _I_ certainly haven't danced with him."

Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "You and Dhugal should teach him the Bordermen's sword dance sometime."

He shook his head, his grin widening. "Dhugal could, mayhap. I've not tried it in so long, I'm likely to chop off my feet at the ankles!" He glanced towards the center of the Hall as a swirl of movement caught his eye, and he realized a new dance had started. Richenda's firstborn son flashed a brief smile in their direction as the steps of the dance brought him closer to where his mother and the bishop stood, but the lady in his arms soon recaptured his full attention. "Is that one of the Earl of Jenas's daughters?" Duncan asked Richenda as they moved past.

She shrugged. "I'm not sure. As far as I've been able to make out, Brendan's intent is to dance with every pretty maiden in the Hall before the night's out, and possibly half the matrons as well. Jesú, I don't know where he finds the energy! Alaric and I are half dead already, and _we_ weren't the ones holding an all-night vigil! Don't look for us to stay through the end of the revels."

Duncan grinned. "No, we're old enough now to have the good sense to catch some sleep when we can. I have a present for our newly-knighted Earl of Marley, by the way, but I suppose it can wait until tomorrow evening, once he's recovered from tonight's festivities."

"I'll let him know," Richenda said. "Is it that lovely R'kassi hunting saddle you pointed out to Alaric a few weeks back? "

"It is, but don't breathe a word about it to Brendan. I want to surprise him."

Her cornflower blue eyes twinkled up at Duncan. "I won't say a word about it. Though I'm sure it will look quite fine on his new horse."

Duncan laughed. "Alaric _did_ buy it for him, then?"

"He did. And you've not lived until you've tried to hide a horse from a young man who visits the stables almost daily!"

A movement beyond Richenda caught his eye, and Duncan glanced past her to see Princess Rothana approaching them. It took him a moment to be certain it was Rothana; he hardly saw her anymore wearing any other garments than the customary gray cowled robe and white veil favored by the Servants of Saint Camber while they were on Schola grounds, but that night she had exchanged her scholar's robe for a luxuriant gown of plum-colored damask. Beside her, chatting animatedly, was an woman of middle years who appeared to be closer to Richenda's age than Rothana's, though no less lovely than her more youthful companion. She looked oddly familiar, although he couldn't quite place her. Her gown of sapphire silk offered a cool contrast to the thick braid of dark auburn hair held in place by a caul of golden netting beneath her veil.

The woman in blue turned to face him fully, and he realized why she'd looked so familiar. He'd seen that face nearly every day, just never without its usual frame of linen veil and wimple. Helena's blue eyes lit with recognition as her gaze caught his, and a smile blossomed. He stood rooted in place, unaccountably nervous for a moment, before recovering his senses and silently chiding himself. _I was just caught off guard_ , he thought to himself, t _hat's all._

The women reached Richenda. Helena offered her a deep curtsey in greeting and a whispered "Thank you" before turning to greet Duncan. "Happy Twelfth Night, Father. I hope your business went well this evening?"

He had to think a moment to realize what she meant; all thoughts of the day's earlier business had fled his mind completely. "Oh, yes," he assured her after a few heartbeats. "Quite so. I'm sure John will be eager to show you the newest Library acquisition sometime tomorrow."

Helena's lips quirked. "Are you certain he'll be in any condition to?" She tilted her head towards one of the Great Hall's shadowed alcoves, where the younger priest stood surrounded by several of Dhugal's Transha men. "Have you noticed what Sir Jass and his party are up to yet?"

The bishop tried to peer through the crowd and the torchlit darkness of night to see more clearly. "No..?"

"They're giving the poor man shots of Ballymar whisky, supposedly to educate his palate, but I suspect their ulterior motive is to coax him out into the dance floor. He's been hiding from the ladies, claiming he's got two left feet."

Duncan gave a startled laugh. "Jesú! And getting him drunk is supposed to change that?"

"Oh, I rather doubt that, but at the moment I suspect he's a wee bit beyond caring how well he dances."

He shook his head, amused despite himself. "I'd better go rescue him."

Helena's eyes danced up at him beneath the front edge of her silken veil. "I'm sure his aching head will be grateful to you in the morning. Not to mention his sense of dignity."

Duncan prepared to rescue his friend, but his son, noticing what was happening at roughly the same time, got there first, deftly confiscating the bottle with one hand while looping his free arm around Father Nivard, gently steering the intoxicated priest away from his Transha retainers under the guise of engaging him in conversation. The bishop heard a quiet snicker behind him and turned to see his cousin Alaric. "Neatly done," the Duke of Corwyn murmured, his gray eyes crinkling at the corners with amused approval. As they approached the hearth, Dhugal deposited the priest into the keeping of a matronly looking woman in religious habit. Despite the distance between them, Duncan readily identified the woman as Sister Therese, the infirmarian.

Alaric claimed his wife, sweeping her into the throng of people gathered at the center of the room in preparation for the next dance. Princess Rothana was next; she laughingly attempted a refusal, but her would-be dance partner was young Sir Corin of Llyr, exerting every ounce of his not inconsiderable charm to coax the lady onto the dance floor, and since she was well aware that the newly knighted son of Llyr's Ard-Tiarna had no interest in pursuing her for any other purpose beyond the pleasure of a shared dance or two, she eventually allowed herself to be persuaded.

Duncan found himself standing next to Helena, who favored him with a quick smile before turning her gaze back to the gathered dancers, now taking their places in the set as the musicians readied themselves to play the opening notes of the next dance. While he was still trying to decide if it would be appropriate for him to ask her for a dance or not, the decision was taken from him. "Sister Helena," he heard a familiar voice say, "I believe there's a need for one more couple to make up the final set. Might I have the pleasure of your company for this dance, Magistra?"

She gave the newly-knighted Earl of Marley a graceful curtsey, offering him her hand so he could lead her out onto the dance floor. Duncan felt a small pang of regret, but it was swiftly forgotten as a touch of a hand on his arm distracted him. He glanced down to see Sophie smiling up at him.

"I almost didn't recognize you, Father Duncan. You're not swathed in purple or black, and there's not a single book in sight. Are you having an enjoyable evening?"

He was, he realized, now that he thought about it. "Yes, quite. Are you?"

"Deliriously happy," Sophie assured him. "You'll note, of course, the absence of small children clinging to my skirts at the moment."

He laughed. "Is _that_ what's different?" he teased. "And where is Seisyll? Why isn't he rendering you dizzy with dancing?"

She smiled. "Oh, he did earlier in the revel, but now he's sidetracked." She gave a tilt of the head towards the section of the Hall where Seisyll stood having a quiet conversation with Prince Nigel and a man who, once he turned his head slightly, Duncan recognized as Sir William FitzEwan, the Schola's new fighting master. "They're going on about battle arts," Sophie explained. "I can't hope to compete." Her hazel eyes rolled with fond exasperation.

"Ah. Well, maybe I can make it up to you. Might I escort you in the next dance?"

Her face lit with surprised pleasure. "I should like that very much. Thank you, Father." She gave him a mischievous grin. "Are you certain you remember how?"

"Vaguely. I'll try to stay off your feet if you promise to stay off mine."

The promise was easily enough kept, as the next dance turned out to be a circle dance, with the men gathered in a circle facing outward while their partners surrounded them in a slightly larger circle facing inward. As the music picked up again, each set of partners dipped and twirled through a series of steps before moving to the next partner, the circle of men rotating clockwise as the music repeated while the ladies remained in their original places. Duncan found himself linking arms with a variety of dance partners in rapid succession as the music continued to pick up speed, until the dance ended with a musical flourish and the spent dancers collected their breath. He found himself facing Helena once more.

"You dance, Father?"

"Of _course_ I dance; I was a Duke's son." He smiled down at her. "Why do ladies always sound so surprised when they ask that question?"

She grinned. "I don't know, perhaps because you're usually tactfully sidestepping them instead?"

He felt himself blush slightly. The jest had more than a grain of truth. Even now that he'd been a bishop for a dozen years and a priest for even more, there were a few women who seemed to consider his vow of celibacy more of a challenge than a deterrent. He'd learned not to give them encouragement, rarely dancing at revels anymore unless perhaps he found himself in the company of some near relation like Richenda, or some other perfectly safe dance partner such as Duchess Meraude.

He'd hoped that as the years passed, the interest of those more predatory females would wane, but instead he'd simply found himself pursued by more matronly widows than young maidens these days. He wasn't at all sure that was preferable.

The music started up again, and Duncan realized with a start that they were still standing in the middle of the dance floor as the other couples began to take places around them. He cocked his head inquiringly at Helena. "Shall we continue, then, since we're already in place?"

She smiled, extending her hand, her open palm meeting his in the opening position for this new dance. As the music began to play, he stepped forward, tapping his wrist against hers before clasping her hand, circling her slowly as he walked through the stately steps of this pavane. As they switched hands, Helena followed suit, now circling him in the opposite direction, mirroring his previous actions. They continued following the music, Duncan's body falling into the familiar steps and patterns he'd learned in his youth. He studied his dance partner, seeing her as if for the first time—the familiar arch of her brows over lowered eyes, echoing the dark fire of her heretofore concealed auburn tresses, the soft curls beginning to escape the braid tucked inside her net caul to form soft ringlets at the nape of her veiled neck, the faint flush of exertion adding color to her cheeks. He found the change disconcerting, found himself wishing for a moment for the comforting familiarity of her drab gray habit instead of the vivid jewel-toned allure that set off her natural beauty in the same way that a velvet lined box set off the sparkle of precious gems in a jeweler's shop. It would be easier for him not to think of her as an attractive woman, simply to think of her as a bright mind and a gentle wit, somehow discorporated from this vibrant female joining him in the steps of the dance.

On second thought, no. Why should she—why should _any_ woman—have to hide her light beneath a bushel just because some man happened to be in no position to pay proper court to her charms? The gown was modest enough for all of its beauty; there was certainly nothing objectionable about the lady's appearance. Nothing even particularly remarkable about it, considering their setting, aside from the fact that it was Helena standing before him like some priceless treasure on display and not some other woman whose charms, though perhaps noticed, nonetheless left him unaffected.

The music ended, and he escorted Helena back to the sidelines. Brother Everard made his way over to them, requesting the favor of a dance with the lady, and with a gracious smile at the lay brother she allowed him to lead her back onto the dance floor, this time for a more lively country dance. Duncan smiled back at them both briefly before withdrawing to one of the window alcoves to observe the other revelers from a slight distance, lost in his own thoughts.

#

Helena had no desire to remarry, that was for certain, but ever since her maiden years she'd loved to dance, and she was glad to have an opportunity to step away from the cares of daily life for a few blissful hours and lose herself in the movement and the music. Despite what Gaston had forced her to endure as his wife, she held no grudge against men in general, knowing the whole sex could hardly be blamed for the offenses of a few, and so she enjoyed the courtly attentions of her dance partners this evening. Still, there could be too much of even a good thing, and after several dances in a row, her energies were beginning to flag. At the end of this one, she thought, she would need to take a break. There was no shortage of ladies for the lords to seek out, after all. If anything, most revels had a surfeit of ladies and not enough lords willing to escort them to the dance floor. If she left to find a quiet corner, she would hardly be missed.

This was a lively dance, a country dance from the Kheldish Riding, and she found herself changing partners frequently. Sometimes she found herself facing a man she knew, sometimes not. At the moment it was Prince Nigel smiling down at her as if she were the loveliest woman in the Hall, but in a few more moments that would change. She'd be whisked away into the waiting arms of some other man, repeating the steps with him and perhaps exchanging polite courtesies while the Prince moved forward to match his steps to another lady's, as generous with the Haldane charm with his new partner as he'd been with all the others before her.

The minstrels in the gallery played the musical phrase that signaled a change of partners. Prince Nigel swept her a courtly bow before moving forward in the circle to face his new partner. Another man stepped up beside Helena from the queue behind her, and she turned to smile up at him. It took a few moments for full recognition to dawn.

"Bon soir, ma chère. I never imagined to see you here of all places."

Her stomach lurched as his voice registered even before his face did, but they were moving again, her feet propelling her through the motions by rote even as her mind whirled even faster than the dancers around them. The music continued, though she no longer heard it. What was _he_ doing here? The edges of her vision started to fade into darkness, and she thought for one horrified moment she was going to faint, but she focused instead of continuing on, steadily on—no, don't look at him!—just try to pretend this wasn't happening and eventually it would be over. It had to be over soon, just like before, like the other times before when Gaston had insisted that…oh Jesú, she couldn't think of that now! Her skin crawled beneath the thin silk that was all that separated her from this man's touch as the measures of the dance brought him back into contact with her again, his hands spanning her waist, this unwanted invader who shouldn't be here at all, not here in Rhemuth, but in Joux, back in faraway Joux where he belonged. He lifted her into the air as he pivoted, and the momentary loss of grounding, of control, nearly made her cry out in remembered terror and loathing, but she stifled the sound, and her feet touched the Hall floor again in a moment, continuing the steps, going through the motions mindlessly while her soul screamed. There was a sound, a quiet one that was louder to her ears than the music nonetheless, and once it registered, she knew it to be a soft whimper. It might have been her own, she wasn't sure, but now they slowed down, stood still, the music changed once more, and he swept her a low bow, eyes mocking her above his smile before he moved forward...oh God, please let this be over soon!...and the pattern resumed once more.

#

She looked ill. Duncan, distracted, murmured an apology to Sir William, excusing himself from their conversation to move closer to the center of the revelry. No, he had not been mistaken. Helena's cheeks were ashen, her eyes darting frantically like a trapped creature's seeking some means of escape. The change had been sudden, he thought—at least he remembered seeing nothing in her countenance earlier to warn that an onset of illness might be imminent—but clearly something was desperately wrong now. She looked...no, it made no sense, not here in the midst of a revel, not in the security of Kelson's Great Hall, but she looked almost terrified.

The music ended, the couples dispersing, either taking new partners or assuming new positions for the dance to come. Helena edged through the crowd, heading towards the nearest exit, her steps picking up speed as she reached the less populated area closer to the walls. Duncan found himself moving in that direction, concerned.

#

She leaned against a wall, breathing heavily, her stomach queasy. She took a steadying breath, willing the nausea down. After a few moments she felt well enough to continue on, stumbling towards the door into the withdrawing room. It would be quieter there, out of sight from the rest of the Great Hall.

"Are you all right?" someone asked, and Helena dimly noted a flash of crimson and the glint of firelight off golden hair, but she couldn't stop, not there, not while _he_ was still in the Hall. She mumbled something in answer, she knew not what, and scurried past the speaker, her mind fixed on escape.

#

Duncan sketched a brief bow to Gwynedd's Queen, but he, too, was fixed on a singleminded purpose and Araxie, after an even briefer moment to absorb what was happening, took a step back to let him pass. He Mind-Spoke a distracted 'Thank you, Your Majesty' as he continued onward, his concern growing into worry, for his gut told him something was desperately wrong.

#

There was a corridor off the withdrawing room. It ran parallel to the outer wall of the Great Hall. Helena turned blindly, heading towards…towards…she wasn't sure where. Refuge. Safety.

She heard footsteps behind her, and her heart lurched in fear. She dared not look behind her, certain it was him, that he was pursuing her, that he'd force her, force her to return to Joux with him, to return to the home she had fled after her husband's death. She gathered her skirts, preparing to flee, but then a hand gripped her arm. She flinched, tried to pull away, wanting to scream, but her voice deserted her.

 _Helena?_ The voice spoke directly into her mind, and she sagged with relief. It wasn't _him_. It wasn't him, it was Father Duncan—sweet blessed Jesú, it was Duncan!—but she couldn't stop, not right now, not even for him.

#

She had collapsed against him when her knees gave way, and he'd acted instinctively to catch her, but now he sensed her starting to struggle again. He tried to calm her, tried to ease her fears wordlessly through the psychic link he'd forged between them as he'd mentally addressed her, and after a few more heartbeats, her struggles stilled, though her blue eyes filled with tears and mute pleading.

"I have to go. He's here," she whispered. The words made little sense to Duncan, though he could easily sense the urgency behind them. She tried to pull away, evidently making her way towards the door further down the corridor which led out into the castle gardens, but it was bitterly cold outside, the path between the Great Hall and the Basilica quite likely growing covered with ice and new-fallen snow again, though they'd been shoveled clear and strewn with sand earlier in the evening.

She'd left her cloak behind in her rush to get away from the unknown man she believed was pursuing her.

"Not that way," he told her. "There's another way back. Here, let me show you."

He led her a different way, a way that led to an apparent dead end. And there, after casting a quick glance behind them to ensure that no one could see, he sketched a glyph in the air. An entrance opened in the wall, and he ushered her within, creating a silvery globe of handfire as the door closed silently behind them.

#

He'd led her halfway down the hidden passageway within the castle wall before she sensed it. There was a staircase up ahead, and as they drew closer to it, the psychic resonance of previous trauma permeated her consciousness. There was fear here—fear that had crescendoed to a momentary terror before becoming still. Her mind recalled the stench of death, although the odor had dissipated long before and her nostrils caught no hint of it. She shrank back from the place. She knew what it was, of course—she knew enough about Gwynedd's recent history to be fairly certain what it was she had sensed in this dim passage—and some other night her natural curiosity might have overcome her distaste for this unexpected extrasensory assault on her psyche, compelling her to investigate further, but not tonight. Dear God, not right now of all times!

"I can't," she told him, an edge of panic in her voice now as she turned to flee back in the direction they'd come, but he stilled her with a touch, drawing her arm into his, capturing her attention with his steady, concerned gaze.

"I'm sorry. I didn't think. This way, then." He turned aside with her, their steps taking them in a different direction.

#

Duncan stifled a mental curse at himself as he led her partway back up the way they had come before turning off down a narrow side corridor. He should have remembered her acute sensitivity to psychic resonances; trying to lead her past the spot where Tiercel had spent his final moments had been unutterably stupid of him, especially while she was in so fragile an emotional state! Jesú forgive him, he'd not meant to add to her distress.

He reached the alternate exit, the first retreat that had occurred to him, though now that he stood before the hidden door he wondered if this was truly the best place to bring her. He suspected it was far from the wisest, but at the moment, nothing more suitable occurred to him. He just knew she needed privacy, needed someplace where she might feel safe again, safe to catch her breath, to regather her composure, and perhaps to share whatever it was that had driven her from the Great Hall in emotional torment so extreme he could feel it roiling up from her even now, despite having withdrawn from the brief rapport he'd established with her when he'd Mind-spoken to her earlier.

He opened the door, leading her through it into the chamber beyond.


	4. Part I--Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

 _Rhemuth Castle—Duncan's personal chamber  
January 6, 1136—Twelfth Night_

"Wait here," Father Duncan said, leading Helena to a cushioned window seat, his concerned eyes studying her intently as she sank onto the bench seat, too emotionally and mentally exhausted to do anything now but comply. "I'll be back in just a moment."

She watched absently as he walked towards the door—not the one they'd just come through, the concealed door in the wall, but an ordinary one. As he passed the hearth, he gave a quick flick of his fingers towards the firewood within, muttering a low syllable, and the dead fire sprang back into life again, adding light and warmth to the chamber. He continued on towards the door ahead, which led out, it seemed, into one of the main passageways through the apartment block of the castle.

Helena was only dimly aware of all of this, though now that the growing firelight dispelled the room's shadows, she saw that she was in a private chamber. It was a small space, quite cozy, and even though she'd never seen it before, it seemed somehow familiar to her. Perhaps that was due to the furnishings, which put her in mind of those in Father Duncan's study at the Basilica, and also the small pile of books stacked up on a low table nearby, which made the strange chamber seem comfortingly familiar. Against the far wall was a wide, high-backed yet simply carved bench-like piece of furniture, well-constructed, with a cushioned surface on top that could serve equally well as a deep bench seat or a narrow mattress. A folded blanket draped across one end of it spoke to the latter use. Was this a bedchamber, then? Duncan normally slept at the Basilica in a private apartment reserved for his use, but she had heard he also had a room set aside at the Cathedral for occasions when Church business required him to stay closer to the heart of the City overnight, and also a private chamber in the main apartment block of Rhemuth Castle for those nights when he was engaged into the late hours with the King's business. Perhaps this was that chamber.

He stood at the open door now, speaking quietly to someone she couldn't see. She should probably leave now—she'd never meant to impose—but her limbs refused to move, her mind refused to focus on what to do next. So she simply sat and waited, waited as he'd bid her to, watching the moonlight play on the new-fallen snow outside, the lovely snow that looked as cold as the chill lodged deep within her soul.

#

She ought to be chaperoned, Duncan thought. Under different circumstances, of course, it would be unnecessary, for a bishop was considered a perfectly proper companion for a woman under more ordinary circumstances, but it was close to midnight now, and they were alone in a sleeping chamber. There were people who would think the worst of them both if they knew he'd brought her here this night, no matter what the true circumstances were behind that choice, and he did not wish to take any chance on staining her reputation.

He considered who he might call upon. Richenda, perhaps? No, her son Brendan had been knighted at Twelfth Night Court earlier in the evening, after having spent the entire night before keeping his vigil in Saint Camber's Chapel, and he thought he remembered seeing her and Alaric leave the Great Hall fairly early, after only a few shared dances to celebrate Sir Brendan's passage into the order of chivalry. Alaric had been up quite late as well, although not the entire night long as his stepson had. Duncan had met Alaric entering the chapel the evening before to share a few private reflections with young Brendan, just as Duncan had been leaving after doing the same, needing to prepare for the Midnight Mass ahead. That had been a couple of hours after Compline, he thought. No, if they'd left the Great Hall early, it was doubtless to catch up on some well needed rest. Either that, or possibly to celebrate Brendan's knighting in much more private ways, but if that were the case, he certainly didn't want to try to establish a mental link with either of them if there was any chance they were engaged in such intimacies!

The sounds of boisterous singing and laughter echoed through the passageway, and at one end of the narrow corridor, coming around a corner, he could see the new knight in question, arm half draped around the shoulders of another young man who looked equally unsteady on his feet. The other newly minted knight was Sir Corin, and the lads were belting out some tuneless melody with lyrics of questionable merit involving Border men and sheep. Duncan gave them a wry smile despite his predicament. It was obvious he could depend on no help from that quarter!

Following behind the young knights, however, were two younger pages, and one of them was Sir Brendan's half-brother. Ten year old Kelric gave Duncan a merry grin as the small entourage passed by him, shaking his head in silent amusement and looking uncannily like his father Alaric had looked at that age. Yes, Kelric would certainly do! Duncan tapped Kelric on the shoulder as the boy started to walk past.

 _As soon as you can break free, can you return here?_ he asked Kelric silently, opening the door a little wider so that the boy could catch a brief glimpse of the chamber and his unforeseen guest. _Sister Helena has had some sort of a fright and we require some privacy, but it would be best if we were chaperoned so no one will misconstrue why she's here._ Despite himself, he felt his cheeks warm slightly.

Kelric's startled glance turned into quick understanding, and he nodded. _I'll be right back,_ he assured his bishop cousin. _Just let me pour Brendan into bed first._

The rowdy party moved on, disappearing into one of the adjoining apartments. Duncan withdrew into his own, shutting the door behind him.

#

The room was heating up, the newly relit hearth shedding cheery warmth, but still she trembled. She sensed Father Duncan's return, and after a moment, something soft settled around her shoulders. Her uncomprehending fingers reached up by instinct, feeling its texture, finding the edges to draw them closer around herself. It was his blanket, she vaguely realized, and she found herself burying her face in it, inhaling its faint scent.

There was a sound of liquid being poured, then she felt him return, settling down on the cushioned window seat beside her. He offered her a goblet and she took a mechanical sip from it, the dark garnet wine blazing a trail of fruity warmth as it trickled down inside her. She took another, desiring the warmth. It was a feeling, a sensation, but it was one she was able to bear in this moment when she'd shut down all other feelings to stay sane.

She thought she heard the door open and close again, but she didn't look up.

#

Kelric Morgan let himself quietly into Duncan's chamber. His 'Uncle Duncan' was tending to Sister Helena, offering her something to drink. He didn't wish to interfere, so he simply found a quiet corner and sat cross-legged against the wall. He was sleepy, but Duncan needed him, so he didn't mind staying up a bit longer.

Duncan spared a glance and a quick nod for him, but it was clear his mind was elsewhere, on taking care of the Schola magistra, so Kelric said nothing, simply smiling back and resting his head against the wall. If Uncle Duncan needed his aid, he would ask. Kelric settled into his corner, physically present but his mind according the bishop and his guest the privacy they sought by wandering elsewhere.

#

The wine unlocked her tongue and also her emotions. They leaked out of her in the form of tears.

"What's wrong, Helena? Is there something I can do to help?" He kept his voice quiet, pitched for her hearing alone, all but a whisper.

She shook her head, her shivering beginning to abate. He draped an arm around her anyhow, his hand rubbing gently at the blanket wrapped around her shoulders as if to chafe the warmth back into her more quickly. "I . . . it was just . . . ." No, she couldn't speak of it, not yet. "My brother-in-law is here," she said instead. "I wasn't expecting him here. Not here." She realized she was starting to babble, the panic beginning to rise up in her again, and she clamped down on it firmly, taking a calming breath.

His voice went on, gently soothing. "Your brother-in-law is with the delegation from Joux?"

Was that why Gaspard was here? Yes, she supposed it must be. She nodded, not looking up at Father Duncan.

"And you have reason to fear him?"

She drew up further into herself, unable to tell him. Not _this_ man, so good and kind, so caring, unlike her late husband or the brother who had inherited from him. She knew Father Duncan was a priest, knew that in his priestly office he'd heard all manner of confessions, knew the depths of mankind's depravity, but still she didn't want him to know what had happened in her marriage, what she'd endured at Gaston's damned, mad, frenzied quest to gain an heir at all costs, even at the cost of his wife's girlish adoration and the breaking of her spirit.

"I've made my confession already to the priest at Saint Jerome's." It was no lie; she had confessed, driven to seek absolution in those early days of her widowhood when she'd fled to that scholarly refuge. The story had come pouring out of her then, shocking that pious old man, who had wept and crossed himself and assured her that she was not to blame, needed no absolving for such evil deeds for they had not been her own choice, but while her mind agreed with him, her heart still found it difficult to forgive. Not just to forgive her husband or his brother, but also herself. She _must_ have been complicit in some way, whether she'd meant to be or not, or how could such awful things have befallen her? No, she couldn't tell Duncan. She couldn't bear to see the look in his eyes if she did, the pity mingled with horror that she'd seen in the eyes of that old priest. She didn't want him to see her as the damaged, broken thing she was deep inside.

He wiped a curl of hair off her face, trailing wetness across her cheek, and she realized her face must be streaked with tears. She dashed at the moisture with her fingers, and found a soft cloth pressed into her hand. "I'm not here as your confessor unless you need me to be," he told her. "I was asking as a friend."

A friend. Oh Jesú, she wished it were that simple for her! Why, after all the romantic dreams of maidenhood, followed by the abrupt shock of a dozen years trapped in the harsh realities of her marriage—her loathsome, traumatic, barren marriage—and her blessed release at last to the solaces of scholarship and occasional thoughts of taking holy vows and entering the cloistered life, had her heart decided to wake up _now_ , here in Rhemuth, and kindle long forgotten stirrings for a man? And not just any man, but a bishop? No, deep down, she suspected she knew the answer to that. What safer love could there be for a woman no longer heart-whole, unable to conceive children, her desire for remarriage or even dalliance completely shattered, than a man who could not offer her those things anyway?

She wondered, if his wife had lived, if he'd remained a married man and had never taken holy vows, and then his wife had turned out to be barren, would Duncan McLain still be the same caring man he was now? Or would that experience have embittered him, soured his love for his wife until she became nothing more to him than a thing to be despised, to be conquered, to vent his spite and his will upon, all in the name of duty and inheritance and his never-ending obsession to sire an heir? She couldn't imagine such a thing, couldn't imagine this man turning into a monster like Gaston. Couldn't imagine him even fathoming such bitter hatred as that which her own husband had borne for her, after the early years of their marriage had passed without her womb quickening even once.

But no, this man's wife had died fulfilling her purpose, had conceived an heir who was now the Duke of Cassan. She'd died giving birth to him, Helena had heard, but despite that, a part of herself felt vaguely envious. Father Duncan's bride's life might have been brief and over far too soon, but at least _she_ had known what it was to be loved, and some part of her lived on in her son.

Oh, Jesú, she couldn't continue on like this, stuffing down the fear and shame and the bitter anger, constantly terrified that something, some chance encounter, would cause it to pop back up again someday and consume her, swallowing her whole. Engulfing her as it had tonight, leaving her emotionally eviscerated. She needed healing.

Duncan was a healer, both of bodies and of souls. She gave up her inner struggle and poured out her pain to him, trusting that he would accept it, applying his healing touch and setting her free from her secret torment.

#

He felt her resistance crumble and was grateful, although he had no idea what had sparked her capitulation. She began to share her story, not in words but in fleeting images and memories that cascaded into his mind, haltingly at first but then in a growing torrent. He sensed that she withheld much from him, and yet what she shared was enough to build cold anger and a fierce protectiveness in his soul.

She shared her memories of herself as she'd been as a newcomer to Joux, sent to her great-aunt's household to learn Court polish and finish her Deryni training, for her father had hopes that his wealth might secure a husband of high birth for his precious daughter despite his own merchant origins. Helena's mother had been of noble birth, a knight's daughter, and her dowry had helped to expand his business, had built up his own wealth to the point that he had hopes his daughter might marry even higher than her father had, and that his grandsons might be landed nobles someday. She had been cherished, coddled, adored, then sent off to Joux for a final polish and to make her fortune in the way all maidens were expected to, through an advantageous marriage. And there had been offers—several, in fact—but one suitor in particular had been especially charming, and Helena had fallen for his handsome face and his gallant manners. His name was Gaston, he was young yet not overly so, a baron of Joux and in need of a wife to secure his inheritance. Helena had entered married life with the excited hope of many a young bride, happy to have pleased her family by securing such a good match and eager to please her new bridegroom.

Their love had lasted about a year, perhaps two years on her part, but with each passing month her new husband became more disenchanted. At first he seemed understanding enough about her failure to conceive, assuring her that not every bride produced an heir so early into a marriage, but once she settled fully into their new life together, all would turn out well. But it hadn't, and by their second year of marriage, his understanding had turned into anger. Anger had eventually, over the years, turned to desperation, to bitterness, to blame. There were his bastards, five of them, sired over the years as Gaston's angry proof to her that her failure was purely her own, no fault of his. There were the continued visits to her bedchamber—mercifully, she shared no vivid memories of those!—yet she shared just enough for Duncan to know that she'd grown to fear the desperate and hateful visitations that had replaced their previous acts of shared passion.

And when inflicting himself repeatedly on his increasingly reluctant and fearful wife had not been sufficient to produce an heir of his body, Gaston resigned himself to accepting an heir of his family bloodline instead. Surely he'd already known that the effort would be useless—Helena was the barren one, not he!—but his mind refused to believe there was no solution to his plight, and if _he_ could not sire an heir on her, perhaps his younger brother could. Certainly Gaspard had been willing to try, for while many younger brothers were eager to inherit from an older one who had no sons of his own, Gaspard was not. He had other ambitions, but he'd once been one of the many suitors clamoring for young Helena's hand in marriage, and his suit had been spurned in favor of Gaston's, so why not enjoy the delightful irony of his brother coming to him now, begging him to sire heirs on his lovely wife? No one need ever know, besides Gaston and Helena of course, and Helena's wishes hardly mattered in any case. If she conceived, she'd never tell who the true father was in any case; why would any woman bring public dishonor to herself?

Helena considered killing herself afterward. Eternal hell seemed hardly a threat anymore; she lived there already.

And then suddenly, blessedly, Gaston had died. She'd hardly believed it at first—it had been a freak accident, a horse stumbling on a badly rutted road as he'd hastened to reach Court before nightfall, throwing him out of the saddle. He'd landed head-first on a rock, and when his squire had brought his body home for burial, Helena had been numb with shock at first, then—as the reality began to soak in—nearly dizzy with relief. Gaspard had been furious, had tried to force her to remain as dowager baroness and tend to the day to day running of the barony so he could continue on with his intrigues at Court and collecting bribes in the courts of law, but Helena had left at the earliest opportunity, seeking sanctuary with the nuns at Saint Jerome, and he'd had no legal recourse to force her return, so eventually he'd settled grudgingly into his new duties and she'd finally been free, free to determine her own destiny.

#

The entire flood of shared memories and unleashed emotion lasted only seconds, but it seemed like half a lifetime's information for Duncan to absorb, as indeed it nearly was. Helena had wed in her sixteenth year and had not been widowed until some months after her twenty-eighth birthday. Duncan marveled at the woman's resilience. She'd had seven years to recover and heal since that time, but even still, such scars ran deep, far deeper than he'd ever suspected.

He knew without having to ask that she'd never sought justice from the Court of Joux for the wrongs that had been done to her, although some legal redress would have been well within her rights. Few wives would have done so, under the circumstances. Her husband's ill treatment of her was, for the most part, technically legal, and while he might have gained some level of societal disapproval for his excesses, any such revelations—especially coupled with public confirmation of Helena's barrenness—would have made her the object of open pity and shame as well. As for her brother-in-law Gaspard's actions, those were prosecutable—here in Gwynedd, the penalty for rape was a fine of thirty sovereigns, owed directly to the woman who had been wronged—but again, that was hardly something most women would wish to admit to in front of gossip-hungry spectators at a Court of High Justice. Even if she'd managed to prove her case and the judgment fell in her favor, she'd be subjected not only to pity and stares, but also a great deal of blame, for many were quicker to judge the victim than the attacker in a rape case, especially if the man were powerful and had many friends and allies.

Helena's trembling had finally stopped. Duncan held out the goblet to her again, watched as she took a deep draught of its contents. He took a firm grip of his fury, reining in the anger until he was certain he could speak without the emotion showing in his voice. He didn't want to frighten her, nor for her to assume his rage was directed at her. "How long have you been holding back those secrets, sweeting?"

She gave him a startled look. "I told the priest in Joux most of it," she told him. Her cheeks turned pink beneath her filmy veil. "As much as I could without implicating any living person specifically, at least."

He nodded, understanding her reasons. She had entrusted her story to the convent priest in a formal act of Confession, and it was standard practice not to reveal the identities of any other involved parties insofar as that was possible, nor to confess their sins for them, for the Sacrament of Reconciliation was meant for the healing benefits to the soul of the person making the confession, not for the purpose of bringing forward and discussing some other person's sins.

"And your brother-in-law has made no further efforts to contact you since your departure from his barony?"

"None." Helena paused. "Well, there was one letter early on, right after I arrived at the convent." She folded her hands around the stem of the wine goblet, studying its contents. "He . . . he tried to order me back home—to my former home, I mean—and promised to repay me lavishly for my silence." She looked up at Duncan for the first time, a wry smile on her face, a faint glimmer of her usual humor returning to her eyes. "I know how much Gaspard has in his coffers; _I'm_ the one who tended to the baronial accounts while Gaston was gadding about proving his manhood, and I'm sure his brother has added his own considerable fortune to the strongbox since then. My brother-in-law's a very wealthy man now, but not all the wealth in the Eleven Kingdoms could lure me back into his control."

#

Helena dropped her gaze again. The room had warmed considerably since her arrival—or perhaps it was simply that the icy core of panic within her had finally thawed out—and she was acutely conscious of Duncan's proximity to her on the window seat they shared. Had he truly called her 'sweeting'? If so, he'd seemed to have used the endearment without realizing it. It was, given her hidden feelings for the man, rather disconcerting, though certainly not in an unpleasant way.

Duncan stood, drawing her attention again, and offered her his hand. "Do you think you're ready for the trek back to the Basilica now? I'll escort you back through the parklands, if you are. Or shall I just ask the chamberlain to arrange suitable accommodations for you here in the castle tonight?"

"At _this_ time of night, with the chambers already filled with visiting nobility needing accommodations for Twelfth Night Court and the household staff waiting for the revelry to be over so they can drag their pallets out into the Great Hall and grab a few hours of sleep?" Helena shook her head. "Jesú, Father Duncan, he'd hardly thank you for _that_ request! No, I'll be all right now, I think." She felt her face flame. "I apologize for . . . for losing control of myself like that . . . ."

He raised a brow at her. "You apologize? Why?"

She stared up at him. "Because . . . well . . . I wasn't thinking clearly, I simply reacted. I wasn't strong enough."

"Hell's bells, woman, you're one of the strongest people I know!" He rang his fingers through his hair, his face a study in . . . what was it, exasperation? He took a deep breath, the expression fading. "Sister Helena, I would think that given all you've been through, you're entitled to a perfectly normal fight-or-flight reaction, especially after unexpectedly coming face to face with a former threat you had no reason to ever expect to see again. You're a person, not a statue."

Yes. She was a person. Perhaps that was why she'd fallen for this man. He treated her like one.

"I'm ready. But we don't have to trudge through the snow. I know what to expect in the secret passage now, and I can just tighten my shields when we get to the spot where Prince Conall's teacher died." She cocked her head at him. "It _was_ him I sensed there, was it not?"

"It was. But are you certain you want to take that route back? I don't mind walking through the snow, and you can wear that blanket as a cloak if you need it."

"I'm certain." She glanced down at the gown she wore. "I don't want to ruin Duchess Richenda's fine handiwork by damp-staining this lovely silk."

His blue eyes flitted downward towards her gown's hem and back to her face again, his eyes crinkling slightly. "Well, if you're sure. I suppose I _could_ carry you through the parklands, but that's almost certain to cause talk if any gossips are still awake at this hour."

She laughed. "Jesú, let's not do that! It's bad enough I've dragged you away from the festivities to come after me, not to mention . . . ." Her voice trailed away as she looked around, fully conscious for the first time of their surroundings. Her gaze landed on a small boy sitting in a dark corner near the door. "Is that Kelric?"

Sleepy gray eyes lifted to smile up at her. "Good evening, Magistra. Or maybe good morning instead?" The boy stumbled to his feet and bowed, glancing uncertainly up at Duncan. "Do you still need me, my lord?" He stood at attention, every inch the proper Haldane page. His bishop-cousin smiled.

"Just witness our departure, then you can escape to your bed," Duncan assured him. He glanced back down at Helena, who realized with a start that she was still absent-mindedly holding the hand he'd offered her earlier. She finally accepted his offer of assistance, quickly rising from her seat, dropping his hand with equal promptness as soon as she'd found her feet, thoroughly mortified. She covered her embarrassment by turning away slightly, carefully refolding the blanket and leaving it on the cushioned seat she'd just left. He raised his hand to sketch the magic glyph in the air, opening up the secret doorway in the castle wall. She lit pale blue handfire and walked through it, the bishop following close behind her.


	5. Part I--Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

 _St. Hilary's Basilica—Duncan's Study  
February 14, 1136_

Duncan glanced around the room at the informal gathering of Schola magistri seated in his study. Sister Therese sat at one end of the table, rolling some sort of herbal paste into small pellets and lining them up on a plate of glazed earthenware to dry. Sister Helena sat next to her, one hand idly stroking the cat in her lap while the other held a letter. Father John, on the opposite side of the table, was also reading. His eyebrows lifted as he got to the end of the message.

"The Schola has received a bequest, it would seem," he said, passing the letter to Duncan. "Or, technically speaking, the Royal Library has, although the donor wishes the collection to benefit the Schola."

"A bequest of books?" Duncan asked, his interest rising. Beside him, Lady Sophie set down her stitching and looked up in curiosity.

"Books and other 'artifacts,' as the letter refers to them, believed to have belonged to some ancestress of the donor. A Deryni ancestress, it appears, although Baron Henslowe—that's the donor—is human. They were discovered when he did some recent renovations to his library. Baron Henslowe is asking if we would like to send someone to evaluate the collection and transport it to Rhemuth, since he says he doesn't know which items would be of use to us, and he's not in the best of health, so he's not easily able to make the trip to Court anymore."

Duncan nodded. "I think we can manage to find someone willing to do that." He exchanged a knowing smile with his friend. "I'm amazed you haven't beaten down his door already."

Father Nivard grinned. "Seeing that I just cracked the seal on this letter about two minutes ago, that would be a record, even for me."

The purring emanating from Sister Helena's lap intensified, and Sister Therese began to laugh. "You're going to rub all the fur off poor Pouncer at this rate!" she joked. Sister Helena glanced up at her, startled, then with a sheepish grin she lifted the cat off her lap, bestowing a kiss on top of its head before setting it down on the floor. It trotted off to bat at the knotted ends of Sister Therese's cincture. Therese reached down to rescue her cincture ends before continuing. "What are you reading, Helena?"

"It's a letter from Ædwige," Helena told her.

Duncan turned his attention to her. "How is the new bride doing?"

Helena frowned over the page for a long moment before replying. "I'm not sure. The text of the letter seems cheerful enough, but . . . ." She studied the letter a bit longer before looking up at him. "It _feels_ unhappy."

"Poor little duck," Sister Therese murmured sympathetically. "What does she say?"

The younger Servant skimmed the letter's contents again. "She's settled into her husband's manor in Danoc, just a few miles this side of the Free Port of Concaradine, it would seem . . . .she says it's a nice enough area, but she misses her friends here. She's not had a chance to make many friends there yet, she's been so busy trying to set the manor to rights . . . oh, here's a bit for you, Therese! She asks what you would recommend for killing mice and rats."

The infirmarian's dark brows rose beneath her veil. "Oh dear, she's inherited a bit of a mess, has she? Well, a few cats should sort out the rodent problem soon enough, or if her husband is averse to cats, she can use foxglove, wolfsbane, or mortweed to kill vermin. She might try baking them in bread and then setting pieces of it in hidden places where the mice are likely to find it." Therese frowned. "I don't like using poisons; it's hard to find good places to leave them out where they'll kill their intended prey without risking harm to small children who might be playing nearby, but I suppose that's hardly an issue yet."

"It might be if her maidservants have children," Sister Helena mused. "I'll be sure to warn her against using it anyplace where children might have access." She continued her sweep down the letter. "She says her husband has promised her a shopping trip to Concaradine in the spring, and that he is very doting and attentive . . . ." She looked back up. "She's underlined 'very.' I _hope_ that's a good thing."

Therese laughed. "He's a rusty old lord with a beautiful sixteen-year-old bride, of course he thinks all of his Twelfth Nights have come at once!" She dimpled. "Hopefully she's not averse to pleasing him—I'm sure he'll settle a bit once an heir is on the way—but if it gets to be too much, tell her to try serving him monastic beer at table. A lot of monasteries have taken to adding hops to their brews. The flavor is a little bitter and might take some getting used to if he's not accustomed to it, but a hops-laden beer is alleged to help curb carnal desires. That's the theory the brothers at St. Illtyd's had, at any rate." She gave the bishop a winsome smile. "You received a birthday cask of beer at Candlemas from the brothers at St. Illtyd's, Father. _Does_ it help?"

Father Nivard burst out laughing at Duncan's startled look. Lady Sophie's eyes dropped demurely to her needlework as she pretended not to have noticed, but the bishop suspected from the amused glint in her eye that tales of this moment would be entertaining the Arilan family later that evening. After recovering his composure, he acknowledged their amusement with a wry smile and replied. "Not that I've noticed, though I'll admit that was hardly among the side-effects I would have looked for right off." He felt his cheeks warm. "It made me a bit sleepy, though that could also have been the effect of a warm meal and a full stomach, so unless you're thinking it might make Ædwige's new husband think more fondly of his sleep than of his new bride, I'm not sure it's the most effective remedy." He glanced over at Helena. "What else does the letter say?"

She paused momentarily before answering, looking as though she might be fighting down laughter of her own, though her voice was steady enough when she continued. "Only a little more, Father. She's in need of a few supplies until she can make the trip to Concaradine, and she asks if one of us could convey an order to the apothecary shop in Market Square for her, to be added to her lord's account." She looked up from the letter. "I have business in that general direction myself, so I don't mind doing that for her."

#

The study had emptied as the magistri had mostly gone their separate ways, Father John escorting Lady Sophie and Sister Therese to the refectory for the noon meal. Sister Helena picked up Ædwige's letter and folded it, preparing to return it to her pouch. The motion caught Duncan's eye, stirring a memory.

"You were planning on heading into the City sometime today, weren't you?"

She glanced up at him. "I was planning to head into town right now, as a matter of fact. I figure I can get to the apothecary shop for Ædwige's order and take care of some other shopping while I'm at the Market. Why, did you need me to pick up something for you while I'm out?"

"Well..." Duncan hesitated, stole a quick glance out his study door to make sure the other magistri were well out of earshot before continuing. "Actually, I probably need to do it myself, since it's a birthday present I'm looking for, but I'm a little stuck for ideas."

"Ah." Helena smiled knowingly. "Would this be a present for your daughter, then?"

The bishop looked confused. "I don't have a daughter," he told her. "Just the one son."

"Oh, I think you do have one! It's fairly common knowledge, among those who've seen you together anyway, that you have both a son and a daughter, born just under two months apart but in different parts of the Kingdom and to two different women, one of whom you never even had the good fortune to meet." Helena grinned at his startled look. "This _is_ a present for Sophie, yes?"

He laughed, his expression clearing. "Yes, it is. And I suppose you're right, she may as well be my daughter. I didn't realize it was that obvious."

"Like snow gleaming on a mountain-top in the middle of July. Come on then, let's have a look at the shops; perhaps we can find some suitable gift for a lady. Jesú knows if something's not to be found in the market stalls of Rhemuth, it's not to be found anywhere at all! The trick, of course, is knowing where to look."

#

"Hm. " Bishop Duncan studied the imported Torenthi carpet laid out before him. "I love the colors in this one, and I'm pretty sure it will match the furnishings in Tre-Arilan's solar unless she's changed everything recently, but do you think it's too dear?" He glanced at Helena and quickly clarified, "I don't mean for me; I can afford the expense. But you know Sophie; is she going to balk at accepting it from me?"

Helena considered the question thoughtfully. "You're right, she probably would. She'd worry that Seisyll will disapprove of her receiving something so luxurious from another man, even if he _is_ a priest. It's a shame, though; that's a stunning carpet.

"Ah. Well, if _that's_ the problem . . . ." The bishop's gaze roamed the room again, this time falling on the etched scimitar that had caught his eye earlier. "What if I add that to the purchase?" he asked, pointing the weapon out to Helena. "A little something for Seisyll too. He can hardly object to that!" He grinned.

The lay sister laughed. "Duncan McLain, you're far too generous! Is this why Princess Rothana manages the Schola's accounts?"

He shrugged, his eyes dancing. "It might be." He stepped over to the far wall to take a closer look at the antique scimitar, examining the fine metalwork. "I have to do _something_ with my money, Helena." He glanced over his shoulder at her. "Look at it this way. I have no housing expenses, since my rooms are provided by the Church or, in the case of my chamber at the Castle, by the King. I rarely need to buy food, since my meals are taken mostly in the Schola refectory or Kelson's Great Hall. I have to maintain battle readiness, so I've a horse to feed and stabling to pay for, and I have to keep up appearances at various state functions, but really, there's not so many of them that I need to buy a whole new wardrobe every year. I have family, but none who need my support, and the Royal Library keeps me well stocked with books. I give alms to charities, but there's still coin left to spare, and all my personal needs are met. What _else_ am I supposed to spend my stipend on, if not gifts?"

"I have no idea, Father, but if you're still adopting daughters, I'm feeling a sudden yen to visit faraway Byzantyun my next birthday."

Duncan laughed. "If you keep teasing me about my spending habits, I'm quite likely to send you there!"

She shook her head at him, the expression in her eyes growing more serious. "Father, I know Sophie is dear to you, and that you can afford the carpet well enough, but I think it would be best if you set your sights on something a little bit less . . . extravagant? Try looking at it from a woman's point of view." At his puzzled look, she smiled. "I know, it's exquisite, and it would look magnificent in Tre-Arilan's solar. It's even likely to prove the centerpiece that draws all eyes to itself the moment a person enters the room. And then what? When visitors ask her where and how she managed to obtain such a lovely work of art, how should she respond?"

"Well, I'm sure she'd tell them it was a gift . . . ."

A dark auburn brow rose. "A gift, yes. But such a princely gift should by all rights come to her from her husband, and while Sir Seisyll has done quite well for his family according to his means and station in life, this is a bit above his means for what, despite its beauty and value, is essentially not much more than a piece of ornamentation, isn't it?" She stroked the carpet's plush pile. "This is, what, half a warhorse's value in knotted wool and silk? There are surely more modest yet still quite lovely tapestries she could use to adorn her solar wall, or other ornaments that would raise fewer questions in other people's minds. Don't you think Sophie might find it rather mortifying, trying to find words to explain how she's merited such a fine gift from a man who is neither husband nor true father to her, should anyone ask her where it came from? " Helena reached out, laying a gentle hand on his arm. " _I_ know your heart well enough to know your intentions are pure and well-meaning, and hopefully so would Sir Seisyll—otherwise, if you _do_ give him that scimitar, he's likely to use it on your neck!—but not everyone knows your heart, Father. Or, for that matter, hers."

The bishop frowned thoughtfully, his fingers stroking the carpet's pile as if reluctant to let it go. "I suppose you're right." He sighed. "No, I know you are." Duncan gave a rueful chuckle, looking up at the magistra. "It would be much simpler if she really _were_ my daughter."

"Yes, then you could spoil her as much as your deep pockets would allow, at no risk to her reputation or yours. But since she's not . . . ." Her gaze roamed the shop, falling on a set of matching cushions which she pointed out to Duncan. "Look, those have quite similar colors, and even very similar workmanship, but I think you could get away with presenting something like that as a birthday gift without Sir Seisyll wondering if you're trying to buy his wife. They're still quite a bit nicer than Sophie would be inclined to buy for herself, but not so much so that she'd be embarrassed to accept them as a gift." Helena grinned. "Especially if the giver were her adopted father." She glanced down at the carpet Duncan's fingers were still stroking. "And if you're just too in love with that carpet to let go of it entirely, perhaps it would make a suitable gift for Dhugal and Mirjana. Or, for that matter, when was the last time you bought new furnishings for yourself? Sophie could even visit it several times a week between classes, if you hang that in your study. Just tell me you're not going to follow the latest fashion of putting something that costly on the floor, or I'll truly start to question your sanity!"

Duncan laughed, moving away from the carpet. "I came here to buy a present, not to spend _all_ my money, woman! How did this ever get so complicated? _This_ is why I don't go shopping." He started towards the collection of cushions nearby.

"Nonsense, Father; shopping's good for the soul."

#

Duncan eventually settled on a tapestry cushion richly embroidered in Opus Andelonicum stitching. It had been a spray of lilies, worked in a vibrant palette of colors and shadings in stitches so fine that the resulting tapestry had seemed as detailed as a painting, that had caught his eye. Sophie loved lilies, he remembered. But the lilies had simply been background detail, and as the bishop had given the tapestry design a closer examination, it was the lady in the foreground, seated with a unicorn resting beside her beneath an oak tree so painstakingly detailed he could see the veining of each leaf, that had caught his attention next. The maiden depicted in the stitchery bore a close resemblance to Sophie herself, much as she had looked at seventeen when he'd first met her, the shy young damsel sent to King Kelson's court to serve her godmother as a lady-in-waiting all those years ago. The one who had timidly accepted Sir Seisyll's attentions at first, unsure she was ready for marriage yet, but who had fallen for his charms in the end. Duncan smiled. Yes, this was the gift he sought. She might not recognize herself in the maiden on the cushion, but mayhap Seisyll would. Duncan chuckled quietly. Not that he was under any illusions that Sophie's young knight had been _quite_ the icon of shining purity that the unicorn represented, despite his honorable courtship of Sophie; Duncan supposed the symbolism could only be stretched so far.

"You have a good eye, Father," Helena said approvingly. "The craftsmanship of that piece is surpassing excellent, even for Andelonian work. It reminds me of some of Countess Celsie's commissioned pieces, only without the cording lore magics worked into it, of course."

"That settles it, then," Duncan told her, picking the cushion up. "Not to mention you've given me an idea for next year's gifts. The Countess's commissions help to fund her Sanctuary work, don't they?"

"They do," Helena affirmed.

"Hm. Mirjana's birthday is coming up next month, but I don't suppose that's enough lead time for needlework so fine as this. Maybe some small Twelfth Night presents, though; belt pouches or the like?"

The magistra grinned. "Jesú, I'd best get you out of this shop altogether before it inspires you to dream up more ways to spend your life savings in one go!" She caught the shopkeeper's eye, motioning him over. "My lord bishop would like this cushion wrapped and delivered to the Basilica, if you please."

"Aye, m'lady." The shopkeeper bowed. "And shall I have the bill sent to the Cathedral or to St. Hilary's, my lord bishop?"

"St. Hilary's. And it's a personal expense, so please see that the bill is sent directly to me and not to the Schola's bursar."

"As you wish, my lord."

#

"Where to next?" Duncan asked as they re-entered the bright sunlight of the Market Square.

Helena blinked, her eyes trying to adjust to the change of light level. "The apothecary's shop to pick up Ædwige's order, then the laundress's shop to pick up our clean linen, and also the spice-seller's shop to order more seasonings for the refectory."

"We're going to eat the refectory? Rather crunchy, don't you think, with all that stonework?"

The magistra aimed a blow at the Schola rector's arm with the wax tablet that contained her shopping list. He dodged it easily, ducking into a doorway and opening the door for his companion. "Speaking of eating, everyone else has had their noon meal, but we haven't yet. Perhaps we should stop by the Gold Lion on the way to the spice-seller's shop. Or do you forget to eat even when you _don't_ have a book in hand?"

Helena looked faintly embarrassed. "I _have_ forgot again, haven't I?" She stepped into the apothecary shop, looking around at the wares on display as Duncan closed the door behind them.

An older man in a stained apron came to the counter from a back room, peering at them both. "How can I help ye, m'lord an' lady?"

Helena handed him the letter from her former pupil. "We're here to pick up a heart cordial for Sir Gilrae of Eddington," she informed the apothecary, "at his wife's request. It's to be charged to their account." She pointed out the relevant portion of Ædwige's letter. "And she says she's also in need of something to get rid of vermin. Foxglove, perhaps?"

The man shook his head. "I'm fresh out o' foxglove. What sort o'vermin, an' how bad is th' infestation?"

"Rats and mice, and I don't know how bad it is. I've not seen for myself, and the letter doesn't say."

He perused the text, pursing his lips slightly, then handed it back. "Mortweed's in season; I've an ample enough supply o' that in stock, I think. Shouldn't take much. One moment while I check." He shuffled off, returning shortly afterwards with a small corked bottle of green glass. "Here's th' cordial. As for th' mortweed, I have both th' dried leaves an' an infusion. How was she planning on baiting th' rats?"

Helena shrugged, glancing at Duncan. "I'm not sure. Our infirmarian suggested that she could bake the leaves in a bread loaf and leave pieces of it in nooks and crannies for the mice to find. Is there some better way?"

The apothecary snorted. "Jesú, I'd not recommend _that!_ What if th' baker were t' mix up th' loaves an' send th' poisoned one back t' the wrong household? She'd have thriving rats an' a dead neighbor! Nay, if she wants t' be sure o' th' little buggers dying, it's best t' use th' infusion." He held out a second bottle, this one black, its cork dyed a brilliant red. "Just a few drops sprinkled on a morsel o' bread or cheese ought t' do for 'em. But keep th' bait well out of sight o' th' children!"

"That's not an issue yet, but I'll warn her."

"I've labeled th' bottles, as ye've seen, an' if Eddington's lady penned her own letters, I assume she can read th' labels right enough. But just t' be sure, remind her which bottle is which. Green's for health; black's for death." He reached under the counter and shoved a book towards Helena, handing her an inkpot and pen. "Ye've got t' sign for poisons. It's th' law. Or give me yer name an' make yer mark, an' I'll sign for ye."

Helena chuckled, taking the pen and signing the register in her neat hand. The old apothecary gave a grunt of approval and took it back, returning the book to its shelf under the counter, pages left open to allow the ink time to dry.

#

"'Elen Angharad ferch Ednyved'? Jesú, no wonder you go by Helena! That's a mouthful," Duncan teased as they left the apothecary shop.

"Not for a Llanneddan. And apparently not for you either. At least you didn't mangle the pronunciation. Your Border roots are showing." She tucked both bottles away in her pouch, looking around the Square. "The spice-seller's next? It's a little closer."

"Not unless you want me to eat all their stock." Duncan took Helena's arm, steering her towards the tavern on the corner. "Meal time."

"I'm not really that hungry," she started to say, but a loud rumble in her gut contradicted her. Duncan laughed, ushering her inside.

"Sure you're not. Just wait until you try their stew."

#

Helena watched, amused, as the rector spoke animatedly of his future hopes for the Schola, pausing briefly between sentences to take another sip of his ale or a bite or two of his meal. He'd been right, it was quite tasty, and she'd finished her bowlful several minutes earlier, but Duncan had been so caught up in his enthusiastic recital of his dreams for the future expansion of their curriculum that now he was the one in danger of forgetting to eat. At last he paused, finally seeming to realize that she'd not spoken much in the past several minutes aside from the occasional comment or question.

She spoke now. "You've needed this, haven't you, Father?"

He tilted his head quizzically at her. "Needed what, the meal?" He glanced down at his half empty bowl. "Yes, it's hitting the spot."

Helena laughed. "When you remember to eat it! No, that's not what I meant."

"What do you mean, then?" His eyes met hers, attentive, as he ate another bite of his food.

"A day out. Some time away from it all, just to relax a bit and refresh your energies, and break from your usual routine. Just look at you-you've just broken out of your usual routine for a couple of hours, and already you're looking more cheerful and better rested than usual. Imagine how refreshed you'd feel if you had several days away from your duties!" She saw the puzzled look grow, and elaborated. "When was the last time you had a break from your duties, Father? A proper holiday, I mean, not just the occasional evening's visit with your cousin or a goblet of wine with John?"

Duncan looked surprised. "Helena, we've just had the twelve days of Christmas..."

"Ah yes, because the Christmas holidays, with all the non-observant folk suddenly remembering their need for the sacraments, are _so_ restful for a bishop! Not to mention all the council meetings and the Royal Courts. Even on Twelfth Night, as I recall, you ended up missing the latter part of Court and most of the feast due to Schola business..."

He laughed. "All right, you have a point. But after that..."

"After that was the beginning of the current term at the Schola, and now that _that's_ well underway, what's your excuse for not taking a bit of time for yourself?" Helena rested her chin on one hand, gazing at the rector expectantly.

"I _do_ take breaks!" He thought back. "There was that hunt with Alaric and Brendan a few weeks back, for example."

"Hardly a proper hunt. Just a couple of hours' riding through the countryside, as I recall. It's better than nothing, I agree, but not much of a rest."

"Well...all right, what about that fortnight I spent with Dhugal and Mirjana after Jared was born? That was a proper holiday."

"In September of _1133?!_ " Helena gave an incredulous laugh. "Two and a half _years_ ago?! Jesú, Duncan, the King and Archbishop Cardiel are hardly slave-drivers! I'm sure they'd allow you a few days of leave from your duties now and again, even if it's not for something as momentous as the birth of a new grandchild. So, when are you planning your next leave of absence?" She gave the bishop a winning smile.

He took a sip of his ale, blue eyes brimming with amusement over his mug. "Now you sound like Princess Rothana," he told her once he'd swallowed. "Did she put you up to this?"

"No. Though I think you'll find, if you ask her, that Sister Therese would agree with us. Even God needed a day of rest after six days of Creation!"

Duncan leaned back from the table with a grin. "You know, I think I envy men who are husbands of only one wife. I somehow seem to have acquired three."

Helena folded her arms. "Well, don't look to your 'daughter' for support, because I assure you, she'll say the same thing."

#

If he was looking more cheerful than usual, Duncan thought, it was the company, though he could hardly tell Sister Helena that, of course. It _was_ nice to have a bit of a break from his daily routine, although he suspected it would hardly be wise to continue visits to the City alone with Saint Camber's lovely Servant on a regular basis. He was already breaking with convention somewhat by bringing her here to the Gold Lion in the absence of other company, even though there was nothing objectionable in and of itself about a bishop and a lay sister sharing a meal together in a public house in the middle of broad daylight. It was just . . . he felt more alive in this moment than he had in years. Perhaps _that_ was what was making him feel vaguely guilty, even though he knew he'd committed no sin.

 _This feels a lot like courtship_ , he suddenly realized, and the thought stunned him, causing him to tighten his shields involuntarily as he pondered the unexpected insight. _Jesú, has she picked up on my feelings?_

He rose suddenly. "I'm sorry, Sister Helena; I've just realized I need to get back to the Schola after all, so I'm afraid I'll have to cut our outing a bit short. " He fumbled in his coin pouch, left a small silver coin on the table.

She stared up at him, a look of confusion crossing her expressive face. "So soon?" A shimmer of hurt appeared in her eyes. "Father, if I've caused offense in any way, I do apologize. I wasn't meaning to come across as a scold, it's just—"

He shook his head swiftly, holding up a hand to stop her apology. "You didn't. It's just that . . . ." His mind floundered for an acceptable excuse to give her. "I have a Council meeting later today that I need to prepare for beforehand." That was true enough, on the surface of things, though he only needed a few brief minutes to re-acquaint himself with the issues coming up for discussion, not two full hours to ready himself. A twinge of conscience assailed him. If he left now, he'd be leaving her without an escort, although the sun was still quite high in the sky, and they were well within sight of the Castle walls. And she _had_ been prepared to venture out from the Basilica by herself earlier this afternoon, which wasn't unheard of when any of the Sisters had an errand to run in the City of Rhemuth, although generally they preferred to venture out in pairs or small groups, both for companionship and the greater safety that such numbers might afford.

His conscience won out. "Will you need assistance, though, in bringing home the fresh linen or at the spice-seller's shop? I could delay my return for a short while, if need be."

She shook her head. "No, the spice order is just a list of seasonings to be delivered to the Refectory kitchens, so there's naught to be picked up there. And there wasn't a large load of wash this week. I should be able to carry it back easily enough on my own, but if not, the laundress's son is always eager to earn a farthing or two. Run along if you need to, Father; I'll be fine."

Duncan still felt guilty, but having committed himself to leaving in his sudden, knee-jerk reaction to flee from his turbulent feelings and the woman who was the cause of them, he could hardly think of any graceful way to amend the situation now. "Well...if you're sure." He paused, feeling awkward. "Thank you for your help today," he added after a moment. "With Sophie's gift, I mean."

Her lips quirked. "I wouldn't have missed that for the world. Even if it _did_ mean having to rescue you from yourself. Who knew our thrifty Schola rector was secretly Father Christmas when let loose on his own?"

Duncan laughed, feeling somewhat on solid ground again now that it was evident there were no lingering hurt feelings in the air between them. "That's to remain our secret, I hope? I don't want to wake up tomorrow and find a long queue of people lined up outside my chamber door in hopes that I'll buy them lavish gifts and send them all on a tour of the Eleven Kingdoms?"

"Well, you can send them packing for it at the very least, if you do!" Helena smiled, rising from her seat and fumbling for her pouch. He put out a hand to stop her, pointing out the coin on the table between them.

"It's a Schola expense; you're out on Schola business."

They left the Gold Lion together, Helena's steps taking her westwards towards the spice shop next, while Duncan's turned south instead, back down the road towards the Castle gatehouse.


	6. Part I--Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

 _Royal Library Annex, Rhemuth Castle  
February 20, 1136_

Father John Nivard handed Sister Helena a small, bound volume from the top of the small stack in front of him. "This arrived along with the letter about the bequest of books that our new benefactor has requested we send someone out to evaluate and pick up from him. What do you make of it?"

Helena studied the binding of the book he set before her. At first glance, it appeared to be an unremarkable enough volume, just a simply bound book clad in brown leather. Upon touching it, however, she recoiled in shock. Her eyes flitted back up to the librarian's face.

"Jesú! Who owned this?" Bracing herself, she adjusted her psychic shielding to protect herself from the full force of the negative energy that resonated from the object and reached for it again.

"Her given name was Ardith, I think. It's only written in the book once, on the first page, and that page has some water damage. Baron Henslowe—that's our benefactor—believes she may have been his grandfather's first baroness, though he says his family history is fairly silent about her. There was apparently some sort of mystery about the lady's death or, rather, her disappearance."

"Her disappearance?" Helena flipped open the book's cover, suppressing a shiver as her brief contact with the volume sent a surge of its former owner's anxiety, albeit dampened by her shields, flooding through her.

"Well...she was assumed to have died, but her body was never recovered. Or so Baron Henslowe believes, at any rate, though he also says he's heard contradictory stories about her strange disappearance. He says he knows little about that part of his family's history, aside from what his great-grandmother told him about the late baroness, her first daughter-in-law, and she was in her dotage at the time. The rest of his family assumed her mind was wandering, and that she was just making up strange fancies, but Henslowe remembers differently. He believes she was quite lucid." John inclined his head towards the book again. "So, I gather you've picked up some impressions from the journal already? I've picked up a few myself, but you're far more sensitive in that area than I am."

"It's a journal, then? I take it you've read it already?" Helena looked back up at the priest, reluctant to touch the volume until it became necessary. "And where was this found?"

"The baron is in the process of doing some renovations to his castle. He knocked down a wall between his library and his former study, planning to create one larger chamber, and discovered there was a small space between the two, hidden in some sort of wall shrine. The books had evidently been sealed in there for nearly a century, at Henslowe's best guess. And yes, I've read it. But I don't want to risk influencing your own impressions of it, so I'll wait until you've looked it over for yourself before I share what's in it."

Helena braced herself for the psychic onslaught then touched the journal again, this time allowing her fingers to linger on page after page, although she allowed her eyes to drift shut as she did so, "reading" the volume's impressions rather than focusing on the written text within. The appraisal didn't take long, but from Helena's perspective, it was quite long enough. Once she'd reached the end of the journal, she drew her fingers back swiftly, her eyes flying open. She took a long, shuddering inhalation and glanced up at Father Nivard.

"That was unpleasant. She was terrified, poor child!"

He nodded. "That she was. Did you pick up on why?"

Helena sorted through her impressions. "She was afraid for her life. She feared her husband would kill her if he knew her secret. He hated Deryni." She looked back up at him. "You say she disappeared. Do you think he killed her?"

John shrugged. "Hard to say. Obviously, if he did, she didn't write about it."

Helena gave a wan smile. "No, I suppose that's not the sort of handy detail one finds in most journals. 'Help, my husband is killing me—urck!'"

Nivard grinned briefly, though he quickly sobered as he remembered that they were discussing the fate of an actual young woman, not merely a hypothetical one. "I received a second letter shortly after the first from the book's donor. He renews his invitation to us to visit Henslowe Hall and collect the late Baroness Ardith's Deryni books and other items, but in this one he also asks if we might be willing to help him discover what might have happened to her those long years ago. He says ever since he discovered this journal, he's been praying for the young woman's soul, but if he can only discover what happened to her body as well, he'd like to give it Christian burial in the family vault. Apparently that's one of the mysterious contradictions to her story. Henslowe says he's been variously told that either she deserted her husband, and that's why she's not buried with the rest of the family, or an alternate story alleges that she was buried in unconsecrated ground as a suicide."

"Jesú! Either way, Father, it would be difficult to discover anything conclusive at this late date, much less find her remains. I hope Baron Henslowe realizes we only do magics, not miracles!"

John chuckled. "He does. Still, he's hoping we'll try." He studied her a long moment. "Would you feel up to it, though? I've sent back a reply to the baron telling him that Bishop Duncan and I could make the journey to Henslowe Hall towards the latter part of next week. Given your strengths, I think you'd have a better chance than most of picking up any emotional imprints that Baroness Ardith might have left behind at Henslowe Hall than either Duncan or I would be likely to, if you would be willing to join us, but since the evidence so far points to her not coming to a good end..."

Helena pondered the situation. "I could keep well shielded for most of the visit, only lowering my guard when I'm ready to cast for old resonances. My shields are naturally tight anyway; given my sensitivities, they have to be for me to stay sane." She grinned. "Especially when working so closely around young people. All the daily heartaches of youth! Imagine me trying to work if I had to experience their collective traumas daily." She grew thoughtful again as she pondered the trip. "How far out from Rhemuth is Henslowe Hall? Would we be able to make it there and back in one day?"

"No, it's not quite that close, but it's only half a day's journey if we go by way of the river, and we'd have overnight accommodations at the Hall."

A man and a woman suddenly appeared in the middle of the room, in the center of the floor pattern marking the Transfer Portal to the library annex. John's eyes widened slightly, though since both of the new arrivals were quite familiar, Helena couldn't fathom why, nor could she divine the odd look that crossed Bishop Duncan's face a moment later. The woman with him, Lady Sophie, seemed oblivious to the silent exchange. She smiled at Helena and started to speak, but Duncan gently caught her by the elbow and steered her towards the connecting passage between the private annex and the main portion of the Library.

"I'm pretty sure I last saw it in here," Duncan told Sophie as he deftly maneuvered her towards the curtained door. "Let's see...where was it again?" Their voices disappeared behind the curtain, and John heaved a quiet sigh of relief, reaching for a large book with new leather binding on the writing table before him and swiftly tucking it away out of sight. Helena gave him an amused look, understanding starting to dawn. She touched John's arm. _Birthday present?_

He gave her a sheepish smile. _Yes. I haven't got around to wrapping it yet. I meant to ask Duchess Meraude this morning if she has a scrap of linen she could spare, but I forgot._

Helena smiled. _If she hasn't, I might. I'll check tonight. You and Bishop Duncan were planning on dropping by Tre-Arilan tomorrow after morning Mass, yes?_

The voices grew closer. John answered with a quick nod as Duncan and Sophie returned to the Annex.

"John, have you seen _The Travels of Father Hristopoulos_?" Sophie asked.

The younger priest flushed, looking uncomfortable. "Um . . . yes. I . . . ah . . . it needed rebinding. It should be available again soon."

Sophie looked surprised. "Rebinding?" She bit her lip, glancing up at Duncan uncertainly. "I didn't damage it last time I borrowed it, did I?"

John shook his head swiftly. "No, no, nothing like that." He shrugged. "It's an old volume, you know. They need repairs from time to time."

Duncan's gaze flitted from John to Sophie, a sudden awareness sparking in them. "Well, you know," he said, turning back to Sophie, "it shouldn't take too long to have it rebound, and in the meantime, you can probably find out what you need to know from one of the maps in _Atlas Orientis Terras_ by Rappaccini. I have a copy in my study." He gently steered her back towards the Transfer Portal. A moment later, both vanished.

Helena raised both eyebrows at John Nivard. "You're giving Sophie Father Hristopoulos's _Travels_ for her birthday?"

He turned scarlet. "Well, not the original, of course; that belongs to King Kelson. But I've made a copy for her."

The magistra gaped at him, dumbfounded. " _All_ of it? Or just an excerpt?"

The priest shrugged, not meeting her gaze. "All of it." His voice came out in a rush. "She's been fascinated by it ever since Kelson added the book to his collection. I've lost count of the number of times she's dropped by to have another look at it, so I figured I might as well make her a copy she can peruse at her leisure." He finally looked up, giving Helena a wistful smile. "It's for her game, you see. That game she and her brother Stefan enjoy, I mean. Father Hristopoulos's travel accounts help to inspire her with new ideas, not to mention the maps..." His voice trailed off as Helena's eyes widened slightly.

"You've copied the entire book, _including_ the illustrations and maps?"

John dropped his eyes again. "Well...I did my best, anyway."

Helena studied her friend. "Jesú, John, that must have taken months!"

He gave a wan smile, his gaze still fixed on the table before him. "It did," he said simply.

She felt a surge of compassion for him, followed closely by a twinge of concern. "I hope Sir Seisyll won't object," she told him. "It's...I'm sure Sophie would be delighted with the copy, but that's an awful lot of effort for a birthday present meant to go to another man's wife."

The sea green eyes closed briefly. John sighed.

"I know. But it was something she really wants, though, and I couldn't think of anything else more..." He waved a hand helplessly. "More truly Sophie. I couldn't just buy her some trinket." John looked back up at Helena. "Is Seisyll going to kill me?"

She shrugged. "I don't really know Sir Seisyll well enough to know how he'll react. Hopefully not; I've grown quite used to you as Royal Librarian. It might be best if you simply let them assume you've managed to turn up another copy, rather than copying it all yourself. Seisyll's likely to read a lot more into your efforts than into the fortuitous appearance of a spare copy just in time for Sophie's birthday, unlikely as such a coincidence might seem if he gives the matter a bit more thought. At least, as books go, anyway, it's not a particularly rare one, so that helps. I nearly bought a copy for myself in Joux several years back, although that book turned out to be just a selection of excerpts." Helena squeezed his shoulder in a rare display of physical affection. "And at least a book is somewhat more discreet than a full-sized Torenthi carpet." She chuckled at his look of bewilderment. "Ask Father Duncan what _he_ nearly bought for Sophie's birthday!"

#

 _February 23  
The Royal Quay, King's Landing, Rhemuth_

The bishop stood at the quay, one hand shading his eyes from the rising sun as he watched Father John's and Sister Helena's approach from the City. The water craft they would be using for their journey upriver was not quite so sumptuously appointed as the Royal Barge reserved for the King's use, nor was it as crude as the more common punts, ferries and barges that carried passengers and cargo upriver from Rhemuth or westward across the Eirian to the lands on the other side of the river. Archbishop Cardiel, after hearing of his Auxiliary Bishop's need to venture upriver on a brief journey on the Schola's behalf, had graciously lent Duncan the use of the episcopal barge and its watermen, a luxury that Duncan had not expected but which he'd gladly accepted on his traveling companions' behalf.

The younger priest paused when he'd reached the other end of the quay to speak with the bargemaster, doubtless about their destination. Sister Helena continued towards Duncan, glancing nervously at the river water flowing around the barge as she pulled a dark blue cloak more tightly around herself. "I wasn't sure whether I should wear my Servants robe for this trip or clothing less likely to look out of place in a baron's hall," she told him, "but I decided if there's any risk at all of an accidental dunking, I'd prefer something lighter than our winter-weight wool robes to swim in."

Duncan chuckled. "I doubt there's any risk of that, but can you actually swim?"

Helena shrugged lightly. "I could as a small child. As to whether I can remember how after all these years, I'd rather not test the theory, especially in wintry waters. Despite this cloak, I'm beginning to second-guess my decision not to wear wool." She favored him with a wry grin, looking back over her shoulder at Father Nivard, who had finished his conversation with the bargemaster and was now heading towards them. "Though at least it's a fine day for travel, if one must travel in winter."

It was at that. The sun shone down on them with the promise of a fair day ahead, warm for the season despite the mid-morning hour. 'Warm' was, of course, quite a relative term to apply to any day in a Gwyneddan February, but at least it wasn't snowing, sleeting, or drizzling, and the clouds had dispersed enough to allow the pale winter light to beam down on the party assembled on the quay.

"What's that yellow thing in the sky?" John Nivard joked as he reached the other two travelers.

"I think it's called the sun," Duncan quipped back, "though since I've not seen it in so long, I could well be mistaken."

"It can't be the sun, Father; if you expect us to believe that, next you'll have us thinking the sky is meant to be blue instead of Saint Camber gray." Helena smiled up at the bishop.

"Well, you can thank Archbishop Cardiel for the weather. When I told him we were planning this trip, he told me he'd pray for a safe journey and clear skies." Duncan glanced upwards with a whimsical smile. "I think next time I have a need, I'm going straight to Thomas to have him intercede for me. Clearly he's got better connections in Heaven than I've got." He stepped onto the barge, nodding an acknowledgement to the watermen who stood at attention to welcome Rhemuth's Auxiliary Bishop onto the bishopric's vessel, and offered a hand to Sister Helena to assist her across the small gap between quay and water craft.

John followed close behind. "Maybe you just need to atone for your misspent youth with your cousin Alaric for your own prayers to be that effective," he teased. "I'm sure I could find you a hair shirt, or perhaps some sackcloth and ashes."

Duncan snorted in amusement. "My youth wasn't _that_ misspent!"

#

Helena gazed around the small cabin at the barge's stern, appreciative of its comforts. While travel during Gwynedd's more wintry months had its attendant discomforts, the episcopal barge had been set up to minimize as many of those as was possible. The passengers found themselves ushered into an inviting shelter adorned with gleaming white paint and elaborately carved and gilded ornamentation. The cabin's large windows were most likely left open to the elements during the milder months to showcase the views on either side of the river and to allow in any cool air that might help to alleviate the summer heat, though for now they were tightly shuttered and hung with scarlet velvet curtains which helped to block out the river breezes. Inside, a raised brazier had been filled with coals to supply some heat to the enclosed space so that the travelers could stay warm. A bucket of water and a bucket of sand sat in one corner, since any fire kept on a wooden vessel, no matter how carefully it might be watched, was a potential hazard. A hamper stowed under a table next to the entrance turned out to contain the simple travel fare of bread, cheeses, preserved fruits, and wine that had been delivered on board from the Schola's refectory earlier that morning, and a small cabinet next to it contained treen—mainly wooden goblets and trenchers, but one tiny lidded box held a small supply of salt.

As for seating, at the rear of the cabin was a cushioned platform which Helena suspected doubled as a window seat in fine weather or, when necessary, Archbishop Cardiel's bed, though doubtless he normally spent a more comfortable night at some monastic guesthouse or in some great lord's guest chamber on most long journeys. Currently, as the windows were tightly closed, an assortment of soft cushions leaned against their wooden shutters, providing a more comfortable surface against which to recline, and a fur-lined blanket was neatly folded at one end of the padded bench. There were also two fauldstools with a table between them, a chest against the port side wall which might also double as a low table or seating, and a bracket from which hung a lamp. Father Duncan lit this as Helena watched, carefully igniting the oiled wick with a subtle wave of his hand. He noticed her watching and grinned.

"The first time I tried using my powers to light an oil lamp, I set fire to the entire thing. Fortunately my mother found me at it and was able to put the blaze out before anything else caught."

She laughed. "How old were you?"

"Six, I think. I'd seen her do it and thought I knew how." Duncan gave her a wry grin. "I was mistaken."

"I imagine you must have been quite a handful." Her eyes sparkled with amusement in the firelight.

"Let's just say I can see quite a bit of myself in Duncan Michael, for all that he looks more like Dhugal."

"Oh, I'm sure the Duke must have been quite a hellion as a young lad as well," Helena assured Dhugal's father.

Father John laughed. "' _As well_ ,' Sister? Did you mean to imply our Auxiliary Bishop was a hellion as a child also?"

Helena took her seat on the cabin's rear bench. "Oh, I'm sure he must have been." She grinned unrepentantly up at Duncan. "Like father, like son, right? Just look at those eyes and tell me you don't see mischief brewing in them!"

John pretended to give Duncan's face a careful inspection, causing the older priest to burst out laughing. "Hm. I think you're right, Sister Helena. Maybe I _should_ find him that hairshirt when we get back."

Duncan shook his head, rolling his eyes heavenward as if appealing for divine support. "I should have known better than to agree to go anywhere with the two of you."

#

Duncan looked up from the merelles game he was playing with John to see Sister Helena stealing another peek out the rear window at the landscape behind their barge. They had been traveling for a few hours, and it was now midday, warm enough in the enclosed cabin with the combined sunlight overhead and the heat from the brazier and oil lamp that they'd all removed their cloaks and Helena had risked unshuttering one of her windows for occasional glimpses of the scenery they passed along the way.

"Have you ever travelled this far upriver from Rhemuth, Sister?" he asked her. He knew she'd been downriver, of course. Her childhood home had been just outside of Pwyllheli, on Llannedd's coast west of where the Eirian emptied into the Atalantic Ocean, and she'd made the journey back to her father's home once since her arrival in Rhemuth, taking a month's furlough to visit family and old friends before returning to the Schola.

Helena carefully re-latched the wooden shutter and drew the velvet curtain back over it before turning to answer him. "No, I've never ventured farther north in Gwynedd than the Rhemuth city gates, actually. Does the Eirian eventually reach your son's lands if you follow it far enough north?"

"The Eirian doesn't, but one of the northern rivers that feeds into it springs from somewhere in the Culdi Highlands, which is just a little south of Transha. We're actually not on the Eirian anymore. We left it some time back."

"Yes, I noticed we're going westward now."

Father John took advantage of the bishop's momentary distraction to move one of his game pieces to an empty spot on the board, lining it up with two of his other pieces to form a mill. He reached over and removed one of Duncan's pieces from the board. "Hm. That leaves you with only two, which means you lose this round. Sorry, Duncan." His cheerful tone belied his apology.

Duncan glanced back down at the board between them. "Yes, I can hear the sorrow in your voice." He glanced back at Helena. "Would you like a chance to trounce John?"

"Oh, I'd hate to take the shine off his victory so soon," she joked.

John peered into the chest containing the items the Archbishop had stowed on board for whiling away the hours on long journeys. "There might be a few games in here that are suitable for three people. Let's see, do you play any _jeux de cartes_?" he asked, pulling out a small stack of thin, hand-painted wooden rectangles. "As Nas? Tarocchi? Karnoeffel? Gleek?"

Helena shook her head. "I've seen playing cards at the Court of Joux, but I never learned any of the rules for the various games."

Duncan reached down inside the chest, pulling out a brightly painted board. "This one might be easier to teach her, John." He placed the board on the table, reaching back into the chest to pull out a drawstring pouch.

Helena laughed as she recognized the board. "Glückshaus? Is Archbishop Cardiel a betting man?"

Rhemuth's auxiliary bishop grinned. "If he is, he certainly hasn't confessed it to me." He emptied out the contents of the pouch on the board, revealing a pair of dice and a handful of river-polished pebbles. "I suspect these are meant to be used as tokens in lieu of coin."

"Oh, well that takes all the fun out. I was looking forward to winning your warhorse."

"You have a use for his warhorse? Is the King starting up an Amazonian cavalry unit?" John teased.

"You never know. We women can be quite formidable." Helena flashed them a smile.

Duncan chuckled. "Yes, we'll just line up all the Court beauties with Sister Helena as their general and march them across the field of battle to smite the enemy with their devastating smiles. My warhorse would be redundant." He divided up the tokens between them, then placed one in the central square of the board which had an elaborate picture of a wedding couple on it and the number seven. "My warhorse, then, though it's an odd choice of wedding gift. How are you two planning on raising the stakes?"

John grinned. "My summer home on the Emerald Coast." He placed a token on the board next to Duncan's.

Helena tilted her head at him curiously. "You have a summer home on the Emerald Coast?"

The priest laughed. "No, of course not."

Helena grinned. "Ah." She placed her token on the board beside the other two. "In that case, I'll wager Pwyllheli."

"The entire city? King Colman might object."

She shrugged. "I doubt it, since I don't intend to lose, so he's unlikely to ever know. I think I'd rather like to have a new horse and a fancy, if quite imaginary, summer home." She eyed the board. "So. Remind me how to play this game again."

"Well, if you don't want to end up waging a one-woman war against the King of Llannedd, start praying that you'll roll a seven before John or I do . . . ."

#

By the time they reached their destination, Helena had lost and recaptured Pwyllheli and been appointed the Bishop of Dhassa, Duncan had added a R'kassi mare to his stables and was pondering what possible—and preferably fully legitimate-function three dancing girls from Nur Hallaj could provide at the Schola, and John had inexplicably become the Queen of Torenth and the proud owner of a carrack full of trade goods. As the barge came to a stop at the berth along the river's shore at Henslowe Hall, the bargemaster peeked into the cabin, looking a bit bemused at the shouts of laughter that greeted him.

"My lords and lady, we have arrived."

Bishop Duncan stood, re-donning his episcopal dignity like a cloak. "Thank you. Has word been sent up to Baron Henslowe yet of our arrival?"

"Yes, my lord bishop, one of the watermen has gone forth to announce you."

Father John deftly scooped up the dice and tokens and returned them to their pouch while Sister Helena returned the game board to its storage chest. Shrugging into their cloaks and gloves, they ventured forth to meet their host.


	7. Part I--Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

 _Henslowe Hall, early evening  
February 23, 1136_

The three travelers were escorted into the Baron's presence by the hall steward. The elderly Baron sat propped up by several pillows on a large canopied bed in a room recently enlarged by the partial destruction of one wall. Beside their host sat a young woman who read to him quietly, although as the steward announced the visitors' presence, she stood and sank into a graceful curtsey.

"Ah, there you are! Good, good. And how was your journey, my lords? And a lady as well—dear me, I hadn't expected that!—Adela, my sweet, would you see to the lady's comfort? Perhaps the Green Room." The young woman graced Helena with a shy smile of greeting before putting the book back on the Baron's nightstand and leaving the room. The baron gazed after her fondly before turning his attention back to his guests and continuing. "Pray pardon me for not rising to meet you; the old limbs don't function as well as they used to." He peered curiously at Helena. "My dear lady, are you also Deryni like your traveling companions?"

"Yes, my lord," she answered. "I'm Sister Helena of the Servants of Saint Camber, a magistra at Saint Camber's Schola."

"But not, I'll wager, from Gwynedd originally. Is that a Llanneddan accent I detect upon your fair lips, faint though it is?"

"It is, my lord."

"Excellent, excellent! My darling wife—my first Baroness, that is, God rest her soul—she was of Llannedd as well. Glorious countryside, Llannedd." The baron smiled. "And surpassing fair women as well." His pale eyes strayed back to the bishop. "And you, I recognize, though we've only met before in passing. How was the journey, Bishop McLain?"

Duncan, now that the old Baron finally paused for breath long enough to allow time for an answer, assured Baron Henslowe that the trip up from Rhemuth had been quite enjoyable. The Baron nodded with satisfaction, turning to the younger priest next. "And you must be Father John Nivard of the Royal Library, yes?"

"I am, my lord."

"And I expect you're eager to see your new collection?" The old Baron smiled genially as he waved his hand towards the gap in the wall. "It's in there. Well, you're not to acquire my entire library, obviously—my son would hardly thank me if I gave it all away—but Adela can show you the relevant items once she returns...ah, there you are, my pet!" He beamed as the young woman who had read to him earlier re-entered the room. "I'm afraid I failed to introduce you properly earlier. Fathers, Sister, may I present my second wife Adela." His eyes twinkled up at his lady, who blushed slightly, her eyes cast demurely towards the ground. "My personal Abishag, if you will."

Duncan carefully masked his sympathy for the young baroness, whose blush grew at her aged husband's description of her. He recognized the Biblical reference, of course; Abishag had been the young and lovely handmaiden of the aging and infirm King David, whose duty it had been to tend to the ancient King in his final illness and warm him with her body. King David, at least, had either been too far gone to take full advantage of his beautiful bedwarmer, or perhaps too unwilling to add more rivals to his heir's claim to the throne than already existed. The bishop doubted the same was true of Baron Henslowe. Bedridden though the aged baron appeared to be, he seemed healthy enough in some ways. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Baroness Adela," Duncan murmured in acknowledgement, giving her a courtly bow.

"The pleasure is mine, Father," she whispered shyly, glancing at her husband with an uncertain air before turning towards Helena. "My lady, another chamber is being readied for your use. I...ah...that is...the letter stated there would be two clergymen and a Servant of Saint Camber arriving from Rhemuth, but I must have missed the part that said...um...that separate accommodations would be required.

Father John turned crimson. "I...hm. I might have forgotten to mention that, come to think. I certainly _meant_ to do so. To mention it, I mean. I mean, _her_."

The Baron studied them all, looking amused. "Well, we've room to spare, so no worries on that account. And it shall certainly be a welcome treat to have such a lovely houseguest. The scenery so very rarely changes in this chamber, you understand, so indeed I'm quite grateful to have such an exquisite flower to gaze upon."

 _Our 'scenery' has a rather noteworthy mind as well, not just a pleasing face and form,_ Duncan found himself thinking, though again he kept his personal reaction well shielded. He stole a glance at Helena. The Sister acknowledged the man's compliment with a congenial smile, though her own shields were as hard as adamant.

"Adela, my sweet, would you show our guests my grandfather's first wife's personal effects, please?"

"Yes, my lord."

#

The shy baroness led her husband's guest to the other end of the newly-united chamber. As they passed through the gap in the wall between the Baron's bedchamber and his library, they noticed a smaller space in between both. It was little more than a niche, just under a yard in width, and about as deep as the reach of Helena's arm. At knee height there was a low stone platform covered with another slab of stone.

"What was this space?" Helena inquired of their guide. "Was it a garderobe once?" She glanced down at the platform again. The stone slab on top of it was solid, though as she crouched to make a closer inspection of it, she saw a thin layer of wood between the top stone and the platform that might have originally been a wooden garderobe bench seat.

The baron, overhearing the question, answered for his wife. "Yes, when the castle was built in my grandfather's day, that was its intended purpose, though it has been sealed off for quite some years. It's been walled up from both sides until recently, quite forgotten until my workmen began to tear down the wall and discovered the space was there."

Father John looked around the small niche. "And this is where Baroness Ardith's items were discovered?"

"No, Father. Step into the chamber just beyond, and Adela will show you where those were found."

All three visitors stepped through the rediscovered passageway, coming out in the castle's library. Adela moved over a few feet to allow them all to emerge from the garderobe niche, then pointed out a portion of the wall that had not been torn down yet. "The books were found inside here, my lords and lady." She pointed towards a wall niche that, on first glance, appeared to be a private shrine.

Duncan stepped forward to give the shrine a closer inspection. A statuette of the Blessed Mother was placed within it, standing on what appeared at first glance to be an elaborately carved wooden shelf, although a more careful examination showed that it was actually more like a wooden coffer built into the nook, to which the statue was firmly affixed, not simply resting on the box. He turned his attention back to their hostess. "Is this a reliquary?"

She shrugged. "It may have been at one time; we really don't know. I asked the workmen if they could remove it before tearing down the rest of the wall, as my lord didn't wish it to be damaged. He plans to make room for it elsewhere. There was a decorative framework around the shrine originally. When they removed it to take out the Virgin Mother, they discovered the items hidden under her stand." Crossing herself reverently, she reached out to lift the statuette. The top of the coffer came off as she did so, revealing an empty space inside, lined with velvet. Adela turned back to face the bishop. "We don't know what originally lay within, but Baroness Ardith evidently used it to hide her Deryni items. She must have known that no one would think to look for them in Blessed Mary's keeping. My lord says he didn't even know the stand _could_ open until the workmen told him what they'd found inside it." She pointed to the area in front of the shrine. "There used to be a prie-dieu here too, until the workmen moved it." She pointed out the newly-moved piece of furniture occupying a place against the opposite wall.

"And where are the items that you found?" Bishop Duncan asked.

"Over here, my lord." Lady Adela walked across the library to a strongbox, fumbling with the set of keys hanging from her belt until she found the correct one. She opened the lock, lifting the lid to reveal the box's contents.

The three Deryni peered inside. Duncan looked over at Helena. She remained tightly shielded, her features and the set of her shoulders betraying some tension. She took a step back with a glance at John. John knelt before the strongbox, lifting out the items it contained and laying them carefully on a nearby bench.

There was a string of clear amber-colored prayer beads that Duncan recognized at once to be shiral, although nothing else about it betrayed any sort of magical associations. Beside that lay a tiny Book of Hours which, again, revealed nothing overt about its origins at first glance, though as Father John began to study the pages within, the book fell open to a prayer to Saint Camber and an illumination depicting a likeness of the formerly banned saint. "Jesú!" he whispered, closing the book reverently and setting it back down. A saint's medallion proved to have Saint Camber's image stamped upon it, the medal looking quite similar to the one Duncan himself owned, though the newly discovered one was made of gold and looked less worn. There was another book, slightly larger in height and width than the first, although thinner, and this proved to contain notes about various charms and simple spells written in a curious shorthand, though easy enough to decipher for adepts in the magical arts familiar with the workings in question. It appeared to be the baroness's personal grimoire. A third book proved to be a psaltery, with Saint Camber listed both in the calendar of saint's days and in the Litany of Saints. The final item on the bench was a carefully folded piece of fabric. John unfolded this to discover it was a tiny christening gown. He glanced up at Baroness Adela. "Did your husband's grandfather and his first wife have any children?"

The young woman shook her head. "Not that I've ever heard of. I know my lord husband is descended from his grandfather's second wife. They may have had a son who didn't survive long enough to inherit, or perhaps just a daughter; my lord might know."

The priest frowned slightly, looking thoughtful as he refolded the small garment. He glanced up at Helena. "Would you like to read the items?"

She would not, yet that was why she had come. Still, she hesitated. She had hoped for a little more privacy before lowering her shields to open herself up to whatever psychic resonances might still linger on the late baroness's personal effects, and while they had moved out of the old baron's line of sight, his young wife's eyes lingered on her curiously. Helena knew from his letters that the baron had no moral qualms about the exercise of Deryni powers—indeed, he probably would have destroyed these discoveries rather than turning them over to the Royal Library if he had!—but she didn't know how his baroness was minded on the matter, and she didn't wish to give her hostess offense. Still, surely the lady had been apprised of the other purpose for their arrival, aside from bringing the small collection back to Rhemuth.

Helena lowered her shields slightly. Before she'd even touched the first item, a wave of terror and despair swept over her. She couldn't, not here, not in this room. There was something about this room . . . .

She slammed her shields shut again. "I can't, John." She took a deep shuddering breath. "There's too much charged emotion for me in this room; it's lingered even after all these years. It would be best if I could read the objects elsewhere."

#

Duncan and John pondered the small collection later as they rested in their guest chamber. The lady of the house had carefully wrapped each item and placed them in a small box suitable for conveying them back to Rhemuth, and then they'd been allowed to retire and recover from their travels before the evening meal, their hostess ushering them to the chamber reserved for their use before continuing down the corridor to bring Helena to the other room that had been made ready for her. Now the two men shared their impressions of their visit to the baron's expanded library suite.

"Helena's right, some sort of trauma happened in that room," Duncan said. "Something felt wrong about it to me too, although under the circumstances I couldn't focus in on it enough to figure out what it was. Did you sense it?"

John nodded. "Not at first . . . well, there was a slight sense of disquiet, but I'd put that down to seeing the old man's wife at first. Jesú, she's barely out of childhood! Do you think she's even seen her fifteenth year yet? " He grimaced. "But as we were stepping through the passage into the old library, I could definitely feel something then."

An unwelcome thought sprang to Duncan's mind. "I hope they haven't given Sister Helena the late baroness's bedchamber or anything like that."

The mention of their traveling companion reminded John of his earlier embarrassment. "If they have, maybe we can switch rooms or something. I _am_ sorry, Duncan; I could have sworn I'd mentioned in my letter that one of our traveling companions was a woman, but it might well have slipped my mind. I don't tend to think of Helena as...well . . . I mean, of course I _know_ she's a woman, that's obvious, but . . . well, she's more like one of _us_ , isn't she?"

Duncan pretended a particular interest in one of the items in the box, ducking his head to hide his amusement. "She _is_ one of us, but all the same, I'm glad we're not reduced to having to flip a coin to see who gets the trundle tonight and who has to double up and share the bed. That could get a mite awkward, don't you think?"

John's cheeks reddened, though his grin indicated he knew full well he was being teased, despite the bishop's mildly censuring tone. "I would hope the solution to _that_ would be obvious without needing to flip a coin. Helena would get the bed, you'd get the trundle, and _I'd_ be relegated to the corner to stay awake all night chaperoning both of you as my penance for being such an idiot."

"Sounds reasonable to me."

#

Helena freshened up at the basin provided for her use, taking her time as she focused on regaining her composure. The threatening feelings she'd felt earlier had mostly dissipated, though every once in a while, if she lowered her shields enough, she could still pick up some of the dark resonance that lingered within the castle walls. Within _this_ portion of the castle, at least; she could hardly speak for the rest of the grounds, as she'd not had a chance to explore them yet. No, the worst of it so far had seemed to be concentrated in that one area. She would have to go back there, of course, to learn what she'd come here to discover, but not just yet. Not until she was better prepared.

The late Baroness Ardith was not the only baroness Helena felt a surge of pity for. She thought back on the shy young bride who had conveyed her to this chamber. Baroness Adela had mustered up the courage to ask Helena if she enjoyed the convent life. Sister Helena had explained to her that the Servants of Saint Camber were not a traditional cloistered order, and that she was not a nun, but that she _had_ had a brief taste of convent life once, and had enjoyed some aspects of it, though not all. Lady Adela's eyes had filled with tears at that point as she'd confided that she had been allowed to attend a convent school in her girlhood, and had harbored hopes of being allowed to take holy vows, but that her parents had had other plans for her and had offered her in marriage to Baron Henslowe instead. Her abbess had been sympathetic at first, but upon learning that Adela's father would not dower her if she refused to comply with his wishes on the matter, she had called Adela into her office and told her that while it was regrettable that the girl was to be wed against her personal preferences, the convent would not be able to keep her indefinitely if she could not supply a dowry for her maintenance. She should take solace in the knowledge that holy matrimony was a sacrament, and that there were other ways a maiden might be called upon to serve God and kingdom besides the vow of celibacy. Perhaps it was God's will that she marry after all, and once she was widowed—as seemed inevitable at some point, given the disparity between her tender years and her bridegroom's—she would be welcome to return to the convent at that time, with even more of a dowry to offer up for God's Kingdom.

Helena privately thought that God probably had less objectionable ways for young Lady Adela to serve His purposes and help finance His work than a coerced marriage to a randy old goat of nearly fourscore years, but she said nothing, merely shaking her head and giving the younger woman a sympathetic smile.

Her ablutions done, Helena turned her attention to the convex mirror on the wall, admiring its wooden frame, which was decorated with miniature paintings of the twelve Stations of the Cross. She unpinned her veil and wimple, re-pinning her braided hair in its customary coil to make it more secure, as it had loosened in the hours since she'd pinned it up that morning. She re-donned both head-coverings afterwards, deftly pinning them back into place with fingers well accustomed from long years of practice to setting the veil pins in their proper places, her mind elsewhere, gaze unfocused and staring sightlessly beyond her image in the mirror. Another figure stared back at her and Helena started, nearly dropping the last veil pin. She peered intently at the mirror once more, but the shadowy figure had vanished.

She took a deep breath, allowing herself to slip into a light trance as she continued to focus on the mirror, using it as she would a scrying crystal. After a few moments, she saw it again. Saw _her._ A woman's face gazed back at her, eyes large with fear.

Helena saw the woman's lips form soundless words. _Help me_ , she said. The magistra recognized the gown style of a bygone era on the mysterious woman's form, but such insight was hardly required for Helena to guess what lady had appeared in her vision.

 _I'll do my best, Baroness Ardith_ , she whispered.

The image rippled and was gone. Helena crossed herself and retreated to a nearby corner to pray.

#

Duncan noticed that Helena had changed out of the simple linen gown she'd worn for their journey into the even simpler Servant robes she habitually wore at the Schola before rejoining him and John for their foray into the Baron's Great Hall. He thought he understood her reason for the change; her Camberian gray robes would serve as a visible reminder to their host of her purpose in being here, which was _not_ to provide him with glimpses of glorious Llanneddan scenery. Still, he rather missed the lavender-blue bliaut she'd worn earlier in the day. He could hardly blame the old baron for being charmed.

The three guests found themselves seated at the head table at a place of honor next to Lord Bertram, the baron's heir, who acted in his father's stead as lord of the hall now that the aged baron found it difficult to leave his bed. His lady wife sat on his other side, a quiet woman called Elsabet who greeted them respectfully but who remained mostly silent afterwards, stealing curious glances at their end of the table from time to time. Beside her sat their two children—the eldest, a pimply-faced surly lad in early manhood, perhaps sixteen, and the youngest a truculent looking girl child of perhaps nine years. At the very end sat Baroness Adela, mostly ignored by her step-son and stepdaughter-in-law, although Duncan found the occasional leers the youngest Henslowe male sent her way disturbing. In theory, she ought to have held the greater place of honor due to her higher rank, but with the baron her husband absent from the hall, his son didn't seem to see any need to follow protocol, and Adela was hardly the sort to assert her right to higher precedence, even at her own table.

If the baronial household was lax in their treatment of their own mistress, however, it more than made up for that in the welcome accorded to the visiting bishop and his Schola staff. Duncan stole a look at John, who looked slightly ill at ease with all the curious attention their end of the table was receiving. Helena, on the other hand, appeared to be comfortably settling into her meal, although as their eyes met, she shared a silent wave of tolerant amusement in his direction.

 _We need to talk,_ she Mind-Spoke to him. An image filled his mind of the vision she'd seen in her guest chamber mirror earlier. He nearly choked on a morsel of food in surprise, took a quick swallow of wine to wash it down as he sent a questioning look Helena's way.

 _Baroness Ardith?_

 _Presumably._

Duncan pondered the apparition, wondering if, in fact, Helena had been assigned to the late baroness's former chambers. There seemed to be one way to find out for sure. He turned his attention back to their host for the evening, engaging him in polite conversation about the history of the Castle.

#

 _So, my chamber wasn't Baroness Ardith's, then?_ The three Deryni engaged in silent Mind-Spoken conversation while taking a leisurely post-supper stroll around the Baron's gallery on their way back up to their respective rooms, feigning a polite interest in the family portraits adoring the gallery's walls.

 _Apparently not,_ Duncan answered Helena _. Our chambers are in a part of the Castle that Lord Bertram believes was a later addition, added during the latter half of his great-grandfather's life, a few decades after Baroness Ardith's death. Or her disappearance, as the case may be. Lord Bertram is of the opinion that his great-grandfather's first wife simply ran away from home._

Helena gave the two priests a skeptical look. _Right. Because a gently-born woman running off to live on her own stands such a good chance of making an honest livelihood. Does he think she passed herself off as a man so she could be apprenticed in a trade? Or does he think she ended up seeking sanctuary at a convent? And no one took note of a gently-born woman turning up on a convent's doorstep unannounced and presumably undowered?_

John shrugged. _Unlikely, but I suppose it's vaguely possible, if they were sympathetic._

 _Perhaps they'd be sympathetic enough towards a wife afraid of an abusive husband to hide her, if that had simply been the case. But towards a Deryni runaway, three generations ago?_

 _Would they have known she was Deryni, though?_ Duncan noted. _Not that I believe she ran off to a convent either, but if she had, I don't imagine she'd have volunteered that information._

A sudden look of realization crossed John's face. _She wouldn't have. Her family was burned at the stake for being Deryni. She mentions that in her journal, towards the end of it. That's why she was so frightened; up until then, she had managed to keep her Deryni bloodline concealed from her new husband, but after her family was betrayed and publicly executed, her secret was out._

Helena's mouth went dry. _Were her entries dated? How much time passed between that entry and Baroness Ardith's disappearance?_

John shrugged. _Hard to say. She dated some of them, but only sporadically. Towards the end, the entries were very short and appear to have been written in a hurry. Those are mostly undated. My guess is...maybe a month between that entry and the last one?_ The priest pondered the question. _She had a dated entry a few weeks before her family's execution in which she mentions suspecting she might be pregnant. When she got word of their deaths, she was afraid she would miscarry, but she didn't. In the entry after that, it's clear she's not told her husband about the baby yet; she was afraid of how he would react to finding out he had fathered a Deryni child. She was afraid for his safety—her unborn child's, that is—as well as for her own._

Duncan glanced sharply at John. _Her child would have been the baron's heir, then, if he was a male child._ His brow furrowed in thought. _How soon might a human father have suspected his wife was with child?_ He glanced at Helena. _How early do the first signs begin to show?_

She gave them both a rueful smile. _You're asking the wrong woman, I'm afraid. I suppose if she'd had morning sickness, he would have figured things out fairly soon, but if not...well, I'm told there are other early signs that a woman is bearing, but Sister Therese might be a better person to ask about those. Or any woman who has actually borne a child, I suppose, assuming she'd be willing to answer a question so personal. I imagine a lot would also depend on how observant her husband was, not to mention how regularly they...well, that is..._ She blushed.

 _He'd need to have had regular opportunities to observe any such signs and changes, yes,_ Duncan observed, his cheeks also beginning to warm slightly. He turned away, studying the portrait before him. Something else occurred to him. _There isn't a portrait of Baroness Ardith here, is there?_

John's eyes took a sweeping glance around the gallery. _I don't think so. Helena?_

Helena looked around, searching for the face from her recent vision. _No, she's not here. Not if the vision I saw tonight had a true likeness._

They reached the end of the corridor. A manservant awaited them at the gallery entrance to escort the two priests up to their chamber. To Helena's surprise, Lady Elsabet stood waiting for her as well.

"Good night, Sister Helena," Duncan said quietly. To their host's daughter-in-law, he added, "Might we be permitted a tour of the castle grounds tomorrow morning after breakfast?" He smiled winningly. "What we've seen of Henslowe Hall so far looks quite lovely."

The lady looked startled, then guardedly pleased. "Thank you! I would imagine that would be all right, my lord bishop." She blushed slightly. "I mean, I suppose that _is_ why Baron Henslowe called you here, after all, so I can't imagine it _wouldn't_ be permitted." Lady Elsabet gave an uneasy laugh. "If you ask the Baron tomorrow, I'm certain he'll make the necessary arrangements. Or if he is indisposed, perhaps my lord husband will arrange for a guided tour. Yes, that would probably be best." She ducked her head, giving him a quick curtsey and starting to turn away.

"Oh, we really don't wish to be any trouble," Duncan assured her. "We'd be glad to see ourselves around the grounds. If the weather continues fair tomorrow, perhaps we can take a stroll through the bailey and the castle gardens at least?"

The heir's lady bit her lower lip. "Oh. Well." She pondered. "I don't suppose there'd be any harm in that," she said slowly after a moment. "Though it would be best to ask my lord husband for an escort, I suppose. I could ask for you, if you like."

John schooled his expression not to betray his surprise and growing unease at the lady's hesitancy. It was a simple enough request, he thought; why would she feel the need to request permission of her lord or the baron to grant it, especially given the fact that their reasons for coming to Henslowe Hall were hardly secret, at least not from the baronial family? Did she feel she lacked sufficient authority to grant even such a minor request, or was it that she felt a need to hide something? And if the latter, then what?

The lady curtsied again, this time escorting Helena away to her separate bedchamber. John raised an eyebrow at Duncan, who returned the look with a speculative smile. They both turned to follow the manservant to their room.


	8. Part I--Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

 _Henslowe Hall  
_ _February 23, 1136—night_

The baron's daughter-in-law gave Sister Helena a speculative once-over once they'd reached the privacy of Helena's guest chamber. "Are you truly the bishop's concubine, or are you the younger priest's?" she asked.

The magistra stared at Lady Elsebet, mortified. "Am I _what?!_ "

The lady's eyes met Helena's stricken gaze somewhat defiantly. "I beg pardon if I've misconstrued," she said, not sounding all that apologetic, "but Bertram believes it to be the case." She shrugged. "Then again, my lord husband can be a bit...harsh...when it comes to his thoughts regarding the gentler sex." She gave Helena a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I know the priests call you 'Sister Helena,' but you're obviously not cloistered. And the bishop _is_ rather handsome and seems a charming sort. And it's hardly conventional for two priests to bring a woman along when they travel abroad. If I might ask, why _are_ you here?"

A number of indignant responses flitted through Helena's mind, but she settled for the unembellished truth. "I'm a magistra and a scholar at the Schola of Saint Camber. Baron Henslowe extended his invitation to the Schola magistri to examine the Deryni collection his workmen found while they were expanding his library. I have certain talents that our rector—that is, Bishop Duncan—and our librarian Father John thought might be useful in that regard." _And those talents certainly_ don't _extend to the point of acting as a bishop's bedwarmer, no matter how I might happen to feel about him...Jesú, the effrontery of the woman!_ "I am called 'Sister Helena' because I am a Servant of Saint Camber, and it is our custom to address each other as 'Sister' or 'Brother' as the case may be."

Lady Elsebet tilted her head curiously at the lay sister. "But yours isn't a conventional religious order, is it? You Servants aren't sworn to celibacy, or so I've heard."

"Most are not, that is true," Helena affirmed. "Married Servants _are_ permitted, but we're still expected to be chaste nonetheless, married or not. Though obviously priests are expected to be both celibate and chaste. Being affiliated with the Schola has no bearing on _that_."

The baron's daughter-in-law shrugged again. "Yes, yes, of course, but men are men, regardless of such niceties as vows." She gave Helena a wry smile. "Mine vowed to love, honor, and cherish me, after all, not to mention all that crap about faithfulness." She snorted in derision. "Who believes in any of it, really, except for innocent maidens and fools?" The woman's dark eyes studied Helena. "You don't seem to be a fool. Are you an innocent?"

Helena gave her a wry smile. "Hardly that. I was wed for a dozen years before I was widowed. And my marriage was far from the idyllic sort that would allow idealistic notions to thrive."

"Ah. A widow, are you? Lucky you."

"As it happens, yes. But I'd not write off the entire male sex for the sins of a few."

Lady Elsebet gave a mirthless chuckle. " _You've_ not been married to a Henslowe." She started to turn towards the door, but paused just inside, one hand on the latch. "What is it that the bishop is hoping to find on the castle grounds? Surely he doesn't think to find any signs of Baroness Ardith still around after all these years?"

Helena shrugged. "Granted, that would be doubtful. But as Bishop Duncan said, it _is_ a lovely castle."

The lady studied her intently for a moment, then her expression softened. "I'm pleased he's so taken with it, then. I've done my best to keep it well maintained. The Baron took pride in the property back in his day and continues to make improvements as he can, but now that he's unable to get around easily, most of the task has been left to me. Bertram would let it fall into ruin if it were left up to him; he's keener on his damned horses and hounds than on maintaining his patrimony. But _I_ intend to see my son has a decently kept hall to inherit along with the Henslowe lands."

"I'm certain the Baron must be quite grateful to have such an asset in his son's wife."

Lady Elsebet snorted. "That might be stretching the point. He'd think me more an asset, I'm sure, if I'd bred more sons for Bertram. But there are limits to what I'm willing to do for the sake of Henslowe Hall." She gave Helena a wry smile. "I'll see what I can do to arrange a tour of the grounds for your bishop. Try not to dig up any old family scandals, will you? The old Baron might be keen on solving ancient family mysteries, but Bertram is more minded just to let sleeping dogs lie. Or bitches, as the case may be." She rolled her eyes, shook her head in resignation, and let herself out.

#

 _Henslowe Hall  
_ _February 24, 1136_

The following morning, the house guests were greeted by the baron's grandson, the surly looking young fellow who had been seated by his mother's side at table the previous evening. To his credit, this morning he appeared somewhat more cheerful as he greeted his grandfather's visitors with a respectful bow. "Father says you've asked for a tour of the castle grounds," he told them. "Unfortunately he's tied up this morning hearing a dispute between two of our villeins, but if you're still interested in a tour, I can take you." He shrugged. "I was born here; I reckon I know most there is to know about the old heap." Despite the deprecating words, his eyes gleamed with pride as he glanced up at the castle walls.

"A tour would be greatly appreciated," Bishop Duncan told him. "Thank you. I hope our timing isn't inconvenient; I didn't realize your father would be holding court this morning." He paused briefly, wondering if there was any significance in the heir being chosen to hear the case instead of the baron. Had the baron, knowing he was aging and growing increasingly unwell, already delegated most of his official duties to his heir? That wouldn't be unheard of in a man his age. "And how does Baron Henslowe fare today?" Duncan asked.

The lad snorted, looking amused. "Well enough, I suppose, my lord. Probably just sleeping in. From the sounds of things, I think he kept going at Adela half the night. _I_ should have so much energy!"

That was definitely more than the bishop had any desire to know, though it explained why the young woman had not been in attendance at breakfast earlier that morning, and why she was not presiding over her husband's court in his stead. He stole a glance at John, who was studiously looking elsewhere, turning a vivid shade of rose.

"So," said Duncan brightly, "let's see those gardens, shall we, while the weather still holds?"

#

The baron's grandson, young Lord Elbert, began with a tour of the outer bailey. He proved to be quite knowledgeable of the castle's history and under Duncan's deft questioning pointed out a number of changes to the castle's structure that had been added on in the last century, and when each wall, outbuilding, or turret had been built in comparison to all the others. While he didn't know the precise years of each stage of the additions, he knew enough of the order of them for Duncan to get a fair picture of the differences between the Henslowe Hall of Baroness Ardith's time and the structure as it currently stood. The lad seemed quite willing to share the information; whether he was of the same mind as his grandfather and eager to give the castle's visitors any aid he could in their quest, or if he just didn't suspect the bishop had any reason to ask besides simple curiosity, Duncan did not know. Lord Elbert didn't seem a particularly clever sort, but neither did he strike Duncan as a dullard.

After several minutes in the young man's company, however, the bishop began to notice how often the young lord's eyes strayed in Sister Helena's direction, lingering on her in barely banked curiosity. He rarely addressed her directly, although he responded to her questions courteously enough when she ventured to raise one.

They left the outer bailey with its stables and other outbuildings, entering through a small portcullis into the inner bailey, which contained the castle gardens and a small stretch of well-tended green. As they entered this smaller courtyard, the young lord picked a sprig of ivy and handed it to the magistra. "If you'd come in June, there'd be roses in the arbor," he told her, a slight smile playing across his lips, "but as it's just February, this shall have to do, I'm afraid, my lady."

Helena looked startled by the sudden show of gallantry, but she gave the lad a smiling curtsey nonetheless, pausing to affix the sprig to the bodice of her robes with a spare veil pin, offering him a quiet word of thanks. Lord Eldred looked quite pleased with himself as he moved on, ushering them down a garden path towards the dovecote and apiary. Duncan stole a glance back at the magistra's bemused expression and chuckled. She'd evidently gained an admirer.

 _Stolen a heart, have you?_ he teased her mentally.

 _Jesú, I certainly hope not!_ she replied in kind, her eyes laughing back at him beneath the edge of her veil. _He's young enough to be my son!_

 _The baroness is young enough to be the baron's granddaughter. You'd fit right into the family._

 _Father Duncan, don't make me hurt you._

The bishop stifled a laugh.

#

Helena stopped being amused when the young prat cornered her behind the dovecote. Bishop Duncan and Father John had moved ahead to give one of the original towers of the castle a closer inspection, but she had lingered behind, drawn to the honeycomb pattern of the brickwork, and had moved to a secluded corner between the dovecote and the keep's wall when she felt a questing hand stroke her hip. She whirled on the young lord, eyes flashing with indignation.

"And what do you think you're doing?" she sputtered.

His dark eyes gleamed down at her, the faint smile playing around his mouth again. "Do you like younger men, my lady? I could arrange for a more private tour of the castle later in the evening."

She gaped up at him, backing away until her back encountered the rough brick surface of the dovecote wall. "I most certainly do _not!_ "

"Are you sure?" He grinned down at her. "Don't be coy, my lady. The bishop needn't know. And surely I can manage to show you a better time than some rusty old priest."

Rusty old . . . . "Bloody hell, child, what do you think I teach at the Schola?!" Helena roared at him, not bothering to keep her voice down, offended both for her own sake and, oddly enough, also for Duncan's. "If you think you're going to learn the _ars amatoria_ from _me_ , cub, you're sadly mistaken!"

The bishop rounded the corner at that moment. At her outburst, he stopped in his tracks, his expression growing dangerously still aside from the blue eyes which flitted from the speaker to the object of her ire. "Is there a problem?" he asked quietly. That quiet tone, Helena knew, was deceptive in its calmness; she could practically feel the anger radiating from him across the small expanse of grassy lawn that separated them.

"Our young guide seems to be under the impression that I'm your leman," she retorted. "Either yours or Father John's. Or perhaps both." The woman's eyes blazed with fury. "Tell me, lad, do I also serve the Archbishop after Mass on Sundays?"

Lord Elbert glanced warily between the two of them, mouth hanging ajar, seeming to have finally awakened to the hornet's nest he'd stirred up. "I . . . ah . . . may have misconstrued."

"You may well have," the bishop affirmed, his voice growing, if anything, even more deadly quiet. "You will apologize to Sister Helena, and then you and I shall have a chat." He glanced at the magistra, all vestiges of his earlier good humor gone. "I left Father John over by the keep," he told her.

#

Helena didn't hear what the bishop had to say to the impertinent lordling after the younger man had stammered out his apologies to her, for once the youth was done babbling, Duncan had tilted his head in the general direction of the keep in an unmistakable directive for her to leave and rejoin their companion while he dealt privately with the matter. Whatever he'd said or done, however, had evidently stricken terror in Lord Elbert's soul, for when Helena finally caught sight of the fleeing lad, there was a telltale spreading dampness in the lad's tunic hem and chausses that could not be ascribed to lingering morning mists. Duncan, for his part, returned to his companions with an expression as serene as if he'd simply been discussing the weather.

"Shall we go on with our tour, then?" he asked no one in particular, leading the way down one of the garden paths towards a section of the courtyard they had not seen yet. "I think we can enjoy the rest of the sights without the benefit of a guide. We'll want to hurry, I think; from the look of those clouds moving in, I think our fair weather won't hold very much longer."

Helena glanced up, taking note of the low gray clouds slowly creeping towards them from the west. "Hm. I daresay you're right." She looked up at the dark stone walls before them. "So, this is the oldest part of the castle, I presume?"

"Yes, this is the original portion of the keep. That slightly recessed area closest to the wall is where the old moat used to be, before it was filled in and the castle expanded outward."

She sent him an inquiring look. "Filled in? How long ago did that happen?"

Father John, guessing where her musings were leading her, shook his head. "Not long enough ago to account for our missing baroness, I don't think. Lord Eldred told us it was filled in sometime around the beginning of King Donal's reign. Baroness Ardith disappeared—or was killed—during the early years of King Malcolm's reign, as I recall. "

"And speaking of being filled in . . . ." Duncan gave her a wry smile. "I think it's time we each share what we've pieced together so far about Baroness Ardith's situation. It's been a bit difficult to find a private moment to get together and do that since we arrived here. John and I spent a bit of time last night going over Baroness Ardith's collection and trying to piece together what we could from her writings and from what the Henslowes have told us, but if you could Read a few of her items for us, that might give us more to work from. I understand your reluctance to do so while the Baron was watching and in that particular chamber, but perhaps you'd find the relative privacy of the gardens here more to your liking?"

"I would, but did you bring the items with you? Or do we need to go back up to your rooms for them?"

"I didn't bring everything," John answered for Duncan, fishing in his belt pouch and pulling out a shimmering string of honey-colored beads. "I didn't want to risk the books getting water-damaged if the weather turns while we're out and we get caught in a rainstorm, but I brought a couple of items." He offered her the prayer beads. "I brought the christening gown as well."

Helena looked around at their surroundings, looking for a place to sit. Spying a bench under a nearby shade tree, she moved in that direction, gesturing for the two men to follow her. She took her seat, closing her eyes and getting into a comfortable position. When she was ready, she cupped her hands in front of her in a silent signal for John to place the first item within them.

John poured the prayer beads into Helena's waiting hands.

She gasped quietly. Someone behind her—Duncan?—lay a steadying hand of support upon her shoulder as she rocked backwards under the weight of the pain, suppressing a moan. It was not a physical pain, but a heavy burden of emotional anguish that welled up within her as the shiral beads coiled within her cupped palms. These beads had been used frequently, Helena sensed, by the woman they sought, the late baroness's fervent prayers sent up to anyone—God or saint—who might be listening. Prayers for strength, prayers for safety, prayers for deliverance.

She allowed her mind to follow those feelings, drift deeper into the trance. And then she saw her.

The baroness had been young, not much older than the present-day holder of her title. Certainly no more than twenty. Helena caught an impression of dark braids falling forward to frame the downturned face bent in prayer, though that almost-vision was quite fleeting. It reinforced the previous vision Helena had seen of Baroness Ardith in the mirror the night before. A stream of whispered prayers flowed from her lips involuntarily, an overflow of words that Ardith had prayed during her brief lifetime a few generations earlier. There was a footfall outside the door—no, that wasn't happening now, Helena reminded herself as panic began to rise within her, that was a memory of some occurrence long since passed—and the prayers ended abruptly, the young baroness leaping from her prie-dieu to hide her beads, her incriminating shiral beads, beneath the Lady of Heaven's shrine, lest her husband discover them and somehow realize their significance.

Helena opened her eyes, blinking away tears she was unaware that she had shed. She handed the beads back to John, wordlessly sharing her impressions with him as their fingers brushed. Shared them with Duncan as well, glancing up at him as his fingers tightened involuntarily on her shoulder at the sudden surge of memories and emotions flooding through their brief link.

John looked lost in his thoughts as he crouched before her, his mind going back over the images Helena had just shared. "That was her bedchamber, wasn't it? The current library, I mean. The prie-dieu and the wall shrine were in there, although in Ardith's time the prie-dieu was just below the shrine, so she would have been looking slightly up at it when she knelt to pray. But I got the impression that there was a bed behind her, not bookshelves."

"Yes," Duncan confirmed. "A canopied bed with blue draperies. I saw that as well. There was a matching curtain on the same side of the chamber as the wall niche, where the passage to the former garderobe would have been, so that makes sense. And there was a tapestry on the wall opposite the shrine."

"She was so frightened of him," Helena murmured. "Terrified that he would discover what she was, what his unborn son was as well. Poor child! It certainly couldn't have been a love match—either that or she knew her husband's hatred of Deryni was so strong that she feared no amount of affection he might have felt for her could have withstood the discovery of her heritage." She looked at John. "You never have told me much about what her journal says. You didn't want to risk biasing my own impressions, I believe you told me. Can you sum it up now?"

John glanced up at Duncan inquiringly, then nodded. "It pretty much confirmed what you've told us so far. Earlier on in her marriage, she was content enough, although as time went on she began to recognize her husband's antipathy towards the Deryni race. Her family's bloodline had been a well-kept secret up to that point, so she only felt a few qualms at first about the possibility of discovery. She began to suspect she was with child towards the end of her second year of marriage. At that point, the tone of the entries starts to change. Her family was betrayed by someone they trusted—the journal doesn't give many details, but we got that much from it—and of course once they were brought to the stake on trumped up charges of sorcery and trafficking with demons, she fell under suspicion as well. Her marriage protected her to some degree from outside interference; the first Baron Henslowe had a fair bit of influence, enough to prevent anyone from simply charging her with false crimes. But of course, there was no one to protect her against _him_. And a man with anti-Deryni sympathies could hardly have been well-pleased to find himself saddled with a new bride whose family had turned out to be 'treacherous, demon-worshipping Deryni.'"

Helena nodded, glancing back up at Duncan as well. "Do you think her husband killed her, in the end? I'm sure she must have been quite tempted to flee, the poor dear, but where _could_ she have gone to seek refuge, on her own without family left to turn to and in that particular social and religious climate?"

Duncan sighed. "As much as I hate to assume the worst of our host's ancestor, I imagine that the first Baron Henslowe must have been highly tempted to be rid of his Deryni bride once and for all, in one way or another, and preferably before the birth of any heir who might carry the 'taint.' Whether he'd have resorted to such an extreme solution as murder so he could be free to marry again is anyone's guess, though. We haven't enough evidence to know one way or the other. _She_ certainly seemed to fear he was capable of turning against her that violently, and two years of marriage to him would have made her a better judge of the man's character than I could be at this far a remove, I should think."

"Was the baby ever born?" Helena asked. "Or did her anxieties make her miscarry?"

The two men shared glances again. This time it was John who answered. "The journal doesn't say. That is, it ends abruptly several months before the baby would have been due, and no miscarriage is mentioned before that final entry."

"How far along would she have been at that last entry?" Helena asked. "Or is it undated?"

John nodded unhappily. "It's undated, though I got the sense that the last several entries were written not too far apart." He held out the tiny christening gown. "Maybe this might tell you something?"

Helena studied the tiny garment, not touching it at first. It appeared unfinished. The basic construction was complete, but the gown was still unhemmed, and the pattern of embroidery embellishing the garment was only half worked. She steadied herself with a deep breath and held out her palm.

A series of conflicting emotions surged through her, and she closed her eyes, focusing on sorting them out. There was contentment at first and cautious joy. Helena got the sense that these had been her emotions earlier on, perhaps when she'd first begun to suspect that a child grew inside her, had first got the idea to cut out the gown in case it should be needed later. She'd hoped it would be needed, for her husband had wed her for breeding heirs. But then, layered atop these initial feelings, came the now familiar fear. A secret kept to avoid disappointing a husband if she were to lose a child after announcing its arrival too early became a secret kept to avoid losing her child to an outraged husband's fury at its Deryni blood.

There was nothing Helena could sense from the garment to indicate what had happened to Ardith's child, however, nor what had happened to his mother. She handed the christening robe back to John, again sharing her impressions with both priests.

A few light sprinkles of moisture began to fall. Helena glanced up, startled, to find that the wintry gray clouds she'd seen moving towards them earlier were now almost directly overhead.

"We'd better get back inside before the bottom falls out of the sky," Duncan said, offering Helena a hand up from the bench.

As she rose, the droplets grew, turning swiftly from mere hints of moisture to falling rain. "Too late!" John yelled, dashing towards the cover of the nearest wall of the Keep, which partially blocked the wind blowing the storm clouds overhead. "Over here; it's drier at the base, and we can follow the length of the wall around to the garden entrance."

Duncan and Helena dashed across the narrow expanse between them and John, the magistra nearly tripping as her footing slipped once upon encountering the slight slope of the recessed area where the former moat had once been, though Duncan caught her with a hand at her elbow. They sprinted across the remaining yards, finally making it to the narrow strip of ground against the keep where the high stonework blocked the falling rain, keeping them mostly dry. Helena reached out to steady herself against the wall. A torrent of panic, horror and despair tore through her, and she recoiled, screaming.


	9. Part I--Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

 _Henslowe Hall inner bailey, late morning  
February 24, 1136_

Sister Helena, her face ashen, crumpled to a heap on the ground before them. Bishop Duncan muttered a startled oath and bent to scoop her limp body up from the damp grass, casting a keen glance up at Father John as he stood. "Let's get her inside, now!"

John needed no urging. He closed the distance between the tower foundation where the magistra had collapsed and the nearest castle entrance in a quick sprint. A castle guard gave him entry and, upon seeing the swiftly approaching bishop and his unconscious burden, ushered the baron's guests into a nearby chamber where they might set her down. "Has she taken injury?" the man asked, looking nervous. "Shall I summon the baron's physician?"

Duncan shook his head. Physically, he sensed that the magistra was unharmed, although she had sustained some sort of extreme psychic shock. "No need; I'm a Healer." He glanced around the chamber, which appeared to be some sort of storage room. A row of locked chests sat parallel to one wall, while wooden shelves holding various household items and containers stood against another. Duncan's gaze fell on a stack of pallets piled up in a corner, doubtless those used by the household servants when they slept in the Great Hall at night. "I'll need one of those, if you can lay it out for me." He frowned slightly, taking note of the rough burlap and the bits of straw poking through the fabric in places. "On second thought, she'll rest more comfortably in her own chamber, if you could send ahead and call for a tiring maid to assist her once she comes to. A sensible sort with steady nerves, if one is available," he added, not knowing if all the baron's household would be as complacent as their lord seemed to be about Deryni adepts using their powers openly, even if those powers were used for an act of Healing. And it was possible some form of Healing intervention might yet be required.

"A tiring maid for m'lady? Aye, of course, my lord bishop." Henslowe's guard glanced at Helena. "The guest wing is just upstairs and a wee bit down the corridor."

The magistra began to stir in Duncan's arms, and as consciousness returned, she stiffened and began to struggle. He exerted control swiftly, sending a tendril of comfort and assurance into her mind until she stilled, her eyes fluttering open. She stared around the small storeroom, her panic slowly subsiding. "Father Duncan?" Her eyes met his, looking haunted.

"You'll be all right, Sister," he told her, warning her with a glance to be mindful of the watching guard's barely restrained curiosity. "But you need to get out of these damp robes. Henslowe's man was about to send for a tiring maid." Duncan shot the man a look full of meaning, and with a blush, he complied, scurrying off to do as he'd been bid.

"I...think I could stand up now," Helena ventured, looking embarrassed. "I'm so sorry; I hate to be such a bother."

Duncan glanced at John, then back down at her with a wry smile. "Perhaps, but let's get you into a room with softer furnishings in it first, just to be on the safe side."

"Yes," John added. "You probably ought to let Father Duncan have a good look at you first. You were standing next to the castle tower when you fainted; you might have hit your head on your way down."

Helena gave them both a sheepish smile. "I'm sure he's had a good enough look at me already; he can hardly help it, carrying me around like some babe in arms! Really, I'm fine. I just wasn't expecting... _that_." She closed her eyes in memory of what she'd experienced when she'd come into contact with the tower wall, beginning to tremble slightly.

"I think he meant that I need a good look _inside_ your head, not just _at_ you, pleasant as that is," Duncan explained, his mouth twitching in an almost-smile, "It's the psychic shock you experienced that I'm more worried about rather than any physical hurt. I haven't seen or sensed any signs of head injury. What happened back there, Helena?"

They heard the returning footfalls of the guard and the lighter steps of someone else, probably the requested maidservant. "Maybe we should get Helena upstairs, and she can tell us what happened once we've all changed into something dry," John interjected hastily.

"Yes, that would be best, I think," Helena agreed.

Duncan nodded his assent. The three followed their host's household staff upstairs to the guest apartments.

#

After changing into warm, dry clothing that didn't smell of wet sheep, Duncan and John spent a few minutes quietly discussing what had happened in the garden below.

"It happened when Helena touched the tower base," John observed. "Did you notice? She was fine until she touched her hand to the stone. Whatever it was she sensed, it had something to do with that tower. I wonder what chambers it houses?"

"Or which ones it housed during Baroness Ardith's time?" Duncan mused. "Then again, we could be getting ahead of ourselves. Helena never said that what she sensed from the tower wall had anything to do with that particular mystery. She might well have stumbled upon something else entirely." He glanced out their bedchamber window, studying the ground below, then pointed out the base of one of the keep's towers a few yards distant. "That's where it happened, isn't it?"

John followed Duncan's gaze, taking stock of the surrounding area...the location of that tower in relation to the door they'd entered afterwards, the proximity of the shade tree and bench where they'd gathered earlier for Helena to Read the items he'd brought... "Yes, that was it." He glanced back up at Duncan, realization dawning in his eyes. "I know of at least two chambers housed within those walls."

Duncan nodded, the same thought occurring to him as well. "Yes. The baron's bedchamber and library."

"The library which used to be Baroness Ardith's bedchamber, according to Sister Helena's vision," John reminded the bishop.

Their eyes met. "Let's go check on Helena," Duncan said.

#

They found the magistra in her guest chamber, kneeling at the prie-dieu. She looked up as they were let in, not by the tiring maid they'd expected to find, but by the young Baroness Adela.

Helena looked more composed now that she'd had a chance to seek the solace of prayer. She stood, brushing absently at the skirts of the dry gown she now wore—the same lavender-blue bliaut she'd worn on the journey up, Duncan noted—and took a deep, steadying breath.

"I think I know what happened to Baroness Ardith," she informed the two priests. "At least if my guess is correct and that tower of the keep contains the Henslowe's oubliette."

Baroness Adela looked startled. "I don't think we have an oubliette!" she protested in a small voice, though as she stopped to consider the matter further, she added, "At least, my lord husband has never mentioned one, and I can't think of any room in that tower now that might have served as one. I suppose it's possible that things might have been changed around quite a bit over the last century."

"Yes, Henslowe Hall has been remodeled quite extensively since its origins, hasn't it?" Duncan noted. "Perhaps your husband might know what that tower was used for in the past. How is he this morning? Would he feel up to a visit?"

Henslowe young bride turned scarlet. "He...ah...didn't get as much sleep last night as one might hope, but he might be awake by now," she murmured. "Shall I go check?"

"If you would, please, my lady," Duncan said. Glancing at Helena, mindful now of the speculation that her presence had caused among other members of the Henslowe household, he stepped back out of the bedchamber. "Shall we await word from you in the gallery, Baroness Adela?" Father John, recognizing the bishop's silent prompt, likewise followed him out of the chamber, walking a few discreet steps further down the corridor in the direction of the gallery.

#

Sister Helena joined them a few minutes later, self-consciously adjusting a veil borrowed from their hostess, as her customary linen veil and wimple were still drying by the fire. The baroness had provided her with a rectangular veil which draped nicely around the magistra's face and neck in wimple-like folds, but it was of fine silk rather than linen, with tiny seed pearls edging the hem.

"I feel like a peacock," she muttered as she joined the two priests.

Duncan smiled. "Well, thank God you don't sound like one! Have you ever heard a peacock shriek?"

"Maybe that's what we heard down in the garden," Father John joked, though his expression sobered almost immediately. "What _did_ you sense down there, by the tower?"

Glancing around to make sure there were no witnesses nearby, Helena took them both by the hand and shared her impressions of Baroness Ardith's final hours of life.

#

"So, you're saying that she never left Henslowe Hall at all?" the baron asked, looking solemn. "That she died locked away somewhere in this tower?"

As he spoke the words, Helena realized with a start that he was right. The foreboding feelings she had sensed upon her first visit to the baron's combined bedchamber and library hadn't simply been due to the Deryni items that Baroness Ardith had carefully concealed within it, nor were they so strong in this place because the current library had once been her own chamber. No, there had been something more here all along, something not yet discovered, but because of those other factors, she'd not suspected the whole until now.

"Yes, my lord. I feel certain that her remains are still around here somewhere, quite close by. Are you certain there was never an oubliette in this section of the keep, perhaps on the lowest level, at the foundation? It was a dark, damp, enclosed space that I sensed. And there was water flowing nearby. She couldn't see anything, but she could feel..." Helena took a deep cleansing breath, willing down the sense of panic that was welling up in her again at her recollection of Baroness Ardith's last memories. "She knew there was no escape, that she would die there."

"Yes, but where?" Baron Henslowe frowned in thought. "There was a moat around the keep at that time; the sounds of water flowing and the dark and damp would indicate some sort of cellar or undercroft space, mayhap, but this portion of the keep doesn't have one. In my grandfather's time, I think there was just..." He turned pale, glancing towards the gap in the remaining bit of wall separating his bedchamber from the library. "Oh, Jesú, surely not!"

Duncan's gaze followed the baron's. He turned queasy as he picked up on the old man's line of thought. "The garderobe shaft. Did it once empty into the moat?"

The baron shook his head, looking ill. "No, not directly. The waste dropped into a cesspit, but that had a low opening with a grate across it. When the water level in the moat rose after heavy rains, the overflow would enter the cesspit and wash the waste out when the waters receded, and then the foul water would be diverted into the nearby river and the moat refilled with fresher river water from upstream. My grandfather thought the plan quite innovative, but my father couldn't stand the stench after every rain, so once he inherited Henslowe Hall, he had the moat filled in and the cesspits made accessible to regular emptying by gong farmers...all except for _that_ one, I should say, since it was no longer in use. Filling the moat in also allowed him to continue expanding the castle walls beyond the original keep."

"A self-cleaning cesspit," John mused. "No need to hire a gong farmer to shovel it out, then, nor would there have been any risk of one discovering any human remains in there, especially if subsequent renovations ensured that the garderobe would never be used again for its original purpose. I imagine the openings in the grate would have been quite sufficient to allow water and ordinary garderobe wastes to flow back out, but small enough to keep something larger within?"

The baron nodded. "They were originally installed for the purpose of ensuring that no enemy could use the cesspit openings as a means of entry into the castle. Not that it would be easy to scale a slippery garderobe shaft, though I suppose it would be theoretically possible."

"Baroness Ardith didn't manage it," Helena said softly. "And even if she'd tried, I suspect that's why her husband sealed the only possible exit with a stone."

#

 _Henslowe Hall  
February 26, 1136_

Bishop Duncan said a prayer of blessing over the earthly remains of Lady Ardith, the second Baroness Henslowe and first wife of the current baron's grandfather. Her bones, as well as a few fragmentary skeletal remains of her unborn son, were contained in a single coffin hastily built by the castle's carpenter for her interment in the family tomb. There was no public ceremony for her passing, for the family wished to allow the scandal of their progenitor's deeds to be buried along with her, yet as Baron Henslowe told the bishop, the poor soul deserved to be laid to rest properly and not left in an old dungheap like the mere waste her husband had evidently considered her to be.

"I'll find a place for her in the crypt that doesn't adjoin my grandfather's tomb," the old baron told them with a wry smile. "Given their history, I can't imagine either would lie peacefully if I were to lay them side by side as husband and wife. Wouldn't want my grandmother coming back to haunt me for that either, or for that matter, my grandfather's mother." He chuckled. "I think, based on some of the things Great-Grandmother said before her death, that she suspected what had happened to Grandfather's first wife, but everyone else in the family just assumed her mind was going and had taken on a morbid bent. She never did like that library, though. She said she felt like the walls were closing in on her. I just assumed it was because the space is rather small."

"You believe she knew what her son did, but just didn't report the crime?"

The baron shrugged. "Who knows? She may have felt it was her duty both as a mother and as the dowager baroness to protect her son and the Henslowe name. But even if she _did_ tell someone what she knew or at least suspected, her missing first daughter-in-law was Deryni. Perhaps justice simply chose to look the other way. It was a different age, Bishop Duncan. You're old enough to remember the old prejudices, I'm sure."

The Deryni bishop nodded sadly. "Yes, indeed it was." He thought back on his own experiences with anti-Deryni hatred. "And I certainly do remember." His gaze met the baron's. "I'm glad we've both lived to see the dawn of a more accepting era."

"So am I, Father Duncan." The old man sighed as he looked back down at the rough-hewn coffin. "So am I."

#

 _The Episcopal Barge, between Henslowe Hall and Rhemuth  
February 27, 1136_

The priests and Sister Helena stood on the deck of Archbishop Cardiel's episcopal barge, watching the towers of Henslowe Hall recede in the distance. The journey back to Rhemuth was easier on the watermen, as the barge would be traveling with the river's current the entire way home rather than having to row against it, and the bargemaster assured them that their return to Rhemuth would be swifter than their trip upriver to Baron Henslowe's castle had been.

The river took a bend, and as the barge went around the curve, they lost sight of the castle behind a hill. "Well, that's done," Duncan commented to no one in particular. "I'll be glad for the warmth of my study again and a nice mulled goblet of Fianna wine."

"Warmth sounds particularly inviting right now," Helena agreed with a smile, tightening her cloak around herself. "And I think I spotted a bottle of metheglin in the cabin earlier; it's not mulled wine exactly, but it's close enough.

"Depends on the spices used to make it, but yes, I imagine if we warmed it, it would essentially be the same thing as mulled mead," Father John agreed. "I'm all for finding out, myself." He held open the cabin door for Helena.

"I think I'll join you," Duncan said, entering behind them. "And shall I set out the Glückshaus board? I'm pretty sure there's a mansion in Pwyllheli that's calling my name."

#

Duncan cleared the last of the tokens off the game board several hours later, glad they'd been betting for imaginary stakes. He'd managed to offload the dancing girls from Nur Hallaj on Father John some time back, but instead of a mansion in Llannedd's capital, he'd somehow managed to end up with a seedy tavern in the Free Port of Concaradine, two assassins on retainer, and a harem. Just what every respectable bishop needed, to be sure. That was definitely the last time he planned to allow John and Helena to gang up on him.

He smiled fondly at them both as he placed the pouches filled with game pieces back in their storage chest, adding the game board in with them. Father John had fallen asleep, lulled into deep slumber by the barge's motion and the warm metheglin inside him, and he now lay on the cushioned platform at the rear of the cabin, snoring softly. Helena, too, looked more relaxed than he'd seen her since their arrival at Henslowe Hall, though she hadn't quite succumbed to the urge to nap. Instead, she leaned back against one wall of the cabin, eyes closed, a faint smile on her face.

A glint of polished ivory in the storage chest caught his eye as he started to close the lid. He lifted it again, pulled out the slender object. It was a bone whistle, of the sort he'd once watched an old man carve from a hollow bone when he was a boy growing up in his father's castle in Cassan. The man had given it to him afterwards, and he'd spent the summer learning how to blow a few tunes on it before it had gotten lost some months later while he and his older brother Kevin were engaged in some boyish escapade or another.

He lifted the mouthpiece to his lips and blew into it softly, testing out the fingering. The magistra's eyes opened, her smile growing as he managed a short tune. "That's lovely," she whispered once he'd finished. "What was that?"

Duncan lowered the whistle, surprised his fingers had remembered how to play the brief melody. "The Merry Maids of Ballymar," he told her. "The chorus of the song, at least." He chuckled at long forgotten memories. "Probably not the sort of song my mother would have approved of me knowing at the tender age of eight, though it's an easy enough tune to learn."

"Why would she have objected?" Helena's blue eyes shone with her usual bright curiosity.

He smiled, returning the whistle to its proper place. "You may have heard my son sing before, but you've evidently not heard him sing _that_ particular ballad, or I'm sure you'd have guessed readily enough. It's rather bawdy. Fortunately I only had the vaguest notion what it all meant at that young age." He secured the storage chest, putting it back in its proper place before returning to his fauldstool. "Do you play an instrument?" he asked her.

She shrugged. "I used to, as a young maid. I took lessons three times a week, trying to learn how to master the _telyn rawn_ , though even after several years of practice I never counted myself as more than a mere novice in the art. I haven't had one to play one in years, though. I'm not sure you even have the instrument here in Rhemuth."

"It's a Llanneddan harp, isn't it?"

Helena nodded. "One variant, yes. It's an older sort, strung with plaited horse hair rather than with wire or gut. The hair strings give the _telyn rawn_ a unique sound."

"Is it anything like a _clàrsach_?"

"I'm sure there are similarities." She studied him quietly before continuing. "The small lap harp in your study—that's a _clàrsach_ , is it not?"

He nodded. "It's the Llyrian variant. That one belonged to my _anam_...to my first daughter-in-law."

Sister Helena leaned her head back against the wall, her eyes drifting shut again. "Duchess Catriona? Yes, I remember hearing her play it once, shortly after I first arrived at the Schola. It has a lovely sound."

"I...had nearly forgotten you've been at the Schola that long."

She smiled. "I'm not surprised. I spent most of that first year either holed up in the women's dormitorium or hiding out in the Library annex, when I wasn't in classes. I wasn't quite ready to rejoin the world just yet." She reopened her eyes, her curious gaze now fixed on the bishop's face. "What does _anamchara_ mean?"

Duncan felt his face warm slightly. "It's a complicated word, _anamchara_. Literally, it means s _oul-friend_ , though it conveys more of the meaning of a spiritual mentor. Except that it was more of a reciprocal relationship, not like a magister's mentorship over a scholar." He shrugged, feeling as helpless at conveying the word's full meaning to her as Cat had once felt when she'd tried to share the Llyrian concept with him all those years ago—how long _had_ it been? Now, it seemed like half a lifetime ago. Perhaps it was, at that. He'd been young—impossibly young, it seemed—in those early days when like-minded souls had first bonded, before he'd known he even had a son, much less that his soul-friend would someday marry him.

"I see." The eyes watching him were warm with empathy. "Her _clàrsach_ hasn't been played in a long time, has it? Not since she died, I'm guessing. I take it you don't play, or do you simply not wish to?"

He shrugged, not knowing quite how to answer. "I don't know how to play it," he finally answered, "though Dhugal plans on fostering Duncan Michael in his uncle's household in Llyr eventually, and I'm thinking the lad might want to have his mother's _clàrsach_ as an heirloom someday. He's likelier to learn how to play one there in Mihall's Court."

Helena nodded. "If I can work out how to play it, shall I teach you?"

A flood of emotion swept through him at the question. He waited for the pain to come, the familiar ache that had once filled him whenever he remembered Catriona, but it didn't. Instead, there was simply a fond wistfulness, a hint of longing to reconnect with happier moments in his younger years, but no longer the wrenching agony of loss.

"I...think I'd rather like that, actually." It would be a link of sorts, a way to honor the memory of one who had been dear to him. How had Helena known? "Why did you ask about that word? _Anamchara_ , I mean?"

"I heard the Duchess call you that once, that same evening when I heard her playing her harp for you and your son. It was just a few months before the fever-flux epidemic swept through Rhemuth. And after she died, you became a cloistered soul for a while, just as much closed off from the world as I ever was, despite your daily duties that kept you outwardly participating in it." She smiled. "We shut ourselves off from life for far different reasons I think, you and I, but I recognized the signs of grief. Though you've healed a great deal since that time. I think your grandson Jared's birth helped. When you returned from your visit to your son's court in Cassan, the life had returned to your eyes. I don't think that was simply because you had a restful two-week holiday."

"You're a very perceptive woman, Elen Angharad ferch Ednyved."

She chuckled. "And you have an excellent memory, Father Duncan, to recall my full Llyneddan name after seeing me sign it only once."

Father John gave a quiet snort in his sleep and rolled over, nearly rolling off the narrow platform. Duncan leapt up to catch him while Helena stifled a giggle. The younger priest sat up, looking around bleary-eyed. "I dreamed you put her ghost to rest," John told Duncan apropos of nothing. "Did you?"

Duncan knew John was probably referring to the late Baroness Ardith, but it was Catriona's visage that sprang to his mind's eye. He smiled at Helena. "Yes, I believe I finally have."


	10. Part II--Chapter 1

**Visionaries** **—** **Part II**

 _"Then thou scarest me with dreams, and terrifiest me through visions"—Job 7:14_

 **Chapter One**

 _Rhemuth Castle, the Duke of Cassan's chambers  
March 25, 1136_

Easter had come and gone three days past, and Dhugal's household was making ready for their return trip to Cassan. But they had rested in their preparations on this evening, setting aside a few hours to spend time together as a whole family before the Duke and Duchess returned north with their younger children. The ducal heir, six-year-old Duncan Michael, would be remaining behind in Rhemuth with his grandfather Bishop Duncan so that he could complete his beginner-level studies at the Schola and begin training as a junior page in King Kelson's Court. Once he'd gained a basic education in both Deryni and courtly skills, he would continue on to his Uncail Mihall's Court in Llyr to begin his fosterage there, remaining in Llyr for a few more years until it was time for him to return to Gwynedd and begin easing into his responsibilities as Kierney's earl and the Duke's eventual heir to Cassan.

At the moment the lad looked rather anxious about his family's imminent departure. The bishop smoothed the boy's hair with one hand, smiling down at him. "It won't be all that much different than the past few months have been for you. You enjoy your studies, don't you?"

Duncan Michael nodded, though the gesture lacked the ready conviction it usually held when he'd been asked that question before.

"And you get along well with your friends in the boys' dormitorium?" Duncan asked.

"Yes, Papa Duncan. It's not that."

"What is it, then?" Duncan asked, his voice quiet, soothing.

Duncan Michael glanced unhappily at his father. "Can't Mama Miri stay just a _little_ while longer?" he pleaded.

Ah, so _that_ was the problem, Duncan mused. Dhugal's ducal responsibilities had taken him back to Cassan shortly after Twelfth Night Court earlier in the year, but as his eldest son was still very young to be left alone as a first-time student at the Schola, Duchess Mirjana had agreed to stay in Rhemuth until Dhugal's return for Easter Court in order to help ease the child into his first months away from his family home. But of course she could hardly remain apart from her husband indefinitely, and the time had come for her to return to Cassan with the Duke.

Duke Dhugal shook his head, looking sympathetic yet firm. "I'm afraid not, son. I need Mama Miri with me. But you know, your Papa Duncan's not going anywhere. He lives at the Schola."

Mirjana gathered the boy into her arms. "You know we'll visit as often as we can, and you'll be allowed holiday visits home as well. It's hardly as if we're not going to see each other anymore." She kissed the top of his head. "And you can write now, so I'm expecting a lot of letters from you. You can tell us about your adventures here in Rhemuth, and I'll tell you what is happening in Cassan and Kierney. And also Transha; we're stopping there first on the way back to Ballymar, aren't we?" She glanced at her husband briefly for confirmation before continuing to soothe his son. "I'm sure we'll be there long enough for me to send a letter from there as well. I imagine Ciaran will be glad for letters from his family also."

Duncan Michael looked a bit more cheerful at the reminder that his boyhood friend would be remaining behind with him, for he too was enrolled in the beginner classes at the Schola. Aine Rose was also old enough now, but Jass had decided to keep her with the family another year or two longer, reluctant to foster out his baby girl so far from home just yet. Most of the entry-age students were closer to Ciaran's age than Duncan Michael's, at any rate, and Aine Rose was only half a year older than Duncan Michael. Her Deryni gifts hadn't manifested quite as early as his, so there was no great rush yet to start her training.

Feeling a bit more reassured, the lad scampered off to play with his younger siblings. Dhugal reached for his wife's hand, clasping it lightly as he turned to his father with a grin. "I have both good news and a confession, Father," he told Duncan, a glint of humor in his amber eyes.

"Oh? Well, I suppose I'd better hear the good news first," Duncan replied. "Maybe that will put me in a better frame of mind for your confession." He glanced at Mirjana, who sat beside his son with her eyes demurely downcast, a charming blush on her cheeks. "I don't imagine I need to rush back to the Basilica for my purple stole?"

Dhugal chuckled. "I hope not." He glanced at his wife, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "We just wanted to let you know before we head back to Cassan that it appears you're going to be a grandfather again."

Duncan smiled at his rosy daughter-in-law. "That's definitely good news, then. I suspected it might be something of the sort." His eyes crinkled at the corners. "And now your confession?" he prompted, attempting to sound stern but failing utterly.

Dhugal's expression radiated unholy mischief. "I might not have been as fully abstinent as one ought to be during the Lenten season."

"Dhugal!" Mirjana's eyes widened with shock as the rosiness of her cheeks deepened into scarlet. She smacked his arm.

Duncan roared with laughter. "Yes, I gathered that much also. Don't worry, son; if you count the months backwards from your own birth date, you'll discover I didn't keep Lent in that way either. So, been sneaking early visits back to Rhemuth, have you? Spending a few stolen moments with your wife after attending Master Janos's weekly Healer classes?"

Dhugal grinned. "Before his classes, actually. Thank God for Transfer Portals!"

#

 _Bishop's Study, St. Hilary's-Within-The-Walls_

 _March 26_

"So, what has you in such a fine mood this morning, Father?" Sister Helena asked as she looked up from re-tuning the late Duchess Catriona's old _clàrsach_.

The bishop smiled at her from his desk. "It's springtime for certain now. The birds are returning to Rhemuth, the trees are putting forth new growth, and apparently so is my daughter-in-law."

"Oh?" Helena grinned. "Sister Therese will be ecstatic to hear that."

"Yes, I can imagine," Duncan said drily. In a falsetto voice, he added, "Be fruitful and multiply, and bring forth a new generation of Healers, Your Grace. Lots and _lots_ of Healers, until your poor Duchess has to beat you upside the head with a quarterstaff to get some rest."

The magistra laughed heartily at Duncan's imitation of Sister Therese's imagined exhortation. "She's not _that_ bad!"

"Is she not? Then why does she look so grieved every time she asks me if I'm absolutely _certain_ of my vocation, and I have to tell her yes? I'm half afraid Thomas is going to show up on my doorstep unannounced some morning, waving a letter at me and telling me he's approved a dispensation of my holy vows."

"Archbishop Cardiel would do no such thing," Helena denied stoutly, her mouth twitching as she attempted to hold back a grin. "He'd most certainly pass that task on to Archbishop Bradene, since Bradene has a good excuse to flee Rhemuth after delivering the bad news to you." She turned back to tuning the harp strings, her shoulders shaking with laughter. "Don't take it too personally, Father. You _do_ know what Tessa's father did for a living, don't you?"

"No, what?"

A giggle escaped her. "He was a horse breeder. Therese can't help assessing you for stud potential; it's in her blood."

"Sweet Jesú!"

"Well, at least your son seems happy enough to do his duty towards the Kingdom," Helena observed with a wry smile. "This is what, his fourth child? And Duke Alaric's brood keeps growing as well. Hopefully at least a few of those children will end up passing on the Healer trait. We already know about Briony's gift." She plucked at the harp's brass strings. "This instrument truly has a lovely sound."

Her fingers coaxed a few notes from the long-idle harp, experimentally at first, but with growing confidence as she grew more accustomed to the feel of the instrument in her hands. "I'll need to check with someone more familiar with this sort of harp to make sure I've tuned it correctly. Would Sir Corin know, perchance? Duchess Catriona was his aunt, was she not?"

Duncan nodded. "She was, and yes, Corin probably would know. If not, his father would; I've seen Mihall play a _clàrsach_ before. I'll try to remember to ask him next time I see him." A head poked through the open doorway, and the bishop turned to greet the newcomer. "Brother Everard!" He made a welcoming gesture. "Come in."

"Good afternoon, Father." The sandy-haired man wearing gray Servant robes entered the room, bowing awkwardly towards Sister Helena once he spotted her sitting on the study floor on one of the Bishop's seat cushions, her back leaning against a wall, the small harp which normally occupied that space now cradled in her lap instead. "And Sister." He broke into a shy smile at the sight of her. "You're looking well."

"Thank you, Brother," she replied graciously. "So are you." She bent her head towards the _clàrsach_ again, adjusting a tuning peg.

"Yes, yes, can't complain." He looked at a loss for words for a moment, then added, "Fine day, isn't it?"

Duncan's eyes met Helena's startled gaze, and he stifled a laugh. A light cadence of rain drumming on the roof belied the man's statement.

"I suppose it's a fine day indeed, for ducks at least, though personally I prefer my days drier," Helena answered, a hint of amusement gleaming in her eyes.

Brother Everard's cheeks turned slightly pink. "Ah, yes, quite so. What I meant was, it's raining now, to be sure, but there's sunlight shining through the clouds, and when I looked out a short while ago, I saw a rainbow. It was quite lovely. Would...ah...if you'd care to see it...?" He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking uncertain.

Helena paused in her task, appearing to ponder the question. Duncan sensed she was looking for some polite way to refuse. He glanced back at Brother Everard. "How is Princess Rothana coming along with tallying the accounts?" he asked, knowing that the magistra in question had set aside a few hours that morning for going over the month's-end accounts, and that Brother Everard usually assisted her with this task.

The Schola's scribe looked briefly blank, then a look of dawning remembrance crossed his face. He gave the Schola's rector a sheepish smile. "Actually, now that you remind me, that's why I'm here. Sister Rothana has a question about one of the merchant bills for refectory supplies. Last month she paid in full a bill for a heavy iron kettle, two large tubs and a pair of tongs. This month she's received what appears to be an identical bill from the same merchant, for the same items and at the same cost. She wants to know if this is a duplicate of the bill that has already been paid, or if the Schola really did order the same items twice, as the merchant is insisting?"

Duncan raised his eyebrows. "This is the first I've heard of it. Have you asked Brother Cook about the order?"

"I have. He says he only placed one order, though he could use another pair of tongs if it's on offer, and another kettle wouldn't go unused either if he had it. He's not got two sets from the merchant, though, only the one."

"If Cook needs the extra supplies, he has only to ask, but let's not pay twice for the same goods if there's no reason to believe we ordered them twice to begin with, especially if we've only received them once. Is the merchant still here?"

"I think so, yes, Father."

Duncan stood. "All right then, I'll see if Cook can take a moment to join us in Sister Rothana's counting room. I'm sure we can get this sorted quickly enough." He strode briskly from the room.

#

Brother Everard perched awkwardly on the end of one of the bishop's benches, watching her. Helena wished the man wouldn't hover. She glanced back up at him briefly with a distracted smile before returning her attention to what she was doing, adjusting the last couple of tuning pegs and giving the brass strings a quick pluck to check their tone.

"Can you play that instrument?" the scribe asked her. "That's the _bean-sagart_ 's old harp, isn't it?"

"The _bean-sagart_?" Helena asked. "Do you mean Catriona of Llyr? It used to belong to her."

"Well, I don't know if _bean-sagart_ was what she was called among her own people, but that's what we called her at St. Kyriell's. She was a priest among her own folk, or so I'd heard, so that's why we called her _bean-sagart_ , a woman-priest."

"Was she?" Helena filed the information away for further reflection later. "So, you've heard it played, then? I don't suppose you could tell me if I've managed to tune it properly?"

He shook his head. "I'm afraid not." He blushed as he realized his statement might be misconstrued. "That is, I-I'm afraid I wouldn't know," he stammered. "Not that I'm afraid you've not done it properly."

She chuckled. "Quite all right, brother. I knew what you meant." Helena plucked at the strings again, this time feeling more satisfied at the notes it produced. She tested a few chords, more to have something to focus on than because the harp needed more fine-tuning, for Brother Everard's continued attention was beginning to disconcert her.

At long last he took a deep breath and broke his silence. "Sister Helena, would you consider...that is...would you like...

They heard footfalls heading in their direction. Brother Everard grew silent again as Bishop Duncan reappeared in the doorway. "I think we've managed to get things settled satisfactorily," he told them. Glancing at the flustered Brother before him, he smiled apologetically and added, "I'm sorry, Everard; I didn't mean to interrupt your conversation with Sister Helena. What were you saying?" He took his seat again, taking up the documents he'd been looking over earlier before Brother Everard's arrival.

The scribe's cheeks turned pink. "Oh, it was nothing, Father. I was just wondering if...if Sister would like to have my kittens." Pink deepened to crimson as Helena turned a startled gaze up at him, then averted her face suddenly, biting her lip to stifle a laugh. "I mean...they'd be _Pouncer's_ kittens, of course...she's been…um…well, let's just say she's been quite the busy kitty lately, and I suspect she'll be growing fat with another litter quite soon, if she isn't already...ah…in the family way, so to speak."

Only the deepening of a few laugh lines around Duncan's eyes betrayed his amusement. "Is that so? Well, good; hopefully her kittens will make equally good mousers."

Helena hastily composed her expression, looking back up again. "Thank you, Brother Everard. If Sister Therese doesn't object to sharing our chamber with a cat, I'll gladly take one of her kittens off your hands once they're weaned. Just one, though; I'm afraid the entire litter might be a bit much for me to handle, especially if they all end up taking after their mother. You might ask Lady Sophie also; I believe she said something recently about her daughter asking if she might be allowed to have a kitten sometime." She paused, trying to think of anyone else who might be in need of a cat or two. "I wonder if Ædwige might be interested in having a few at her new home? Mousers would certainly be a safer solution to her vermin problem than mortweed."

"Quite so...quite so."

The silence grew awkwardly between them. At last, Brother Everard inclined his head towards her, saying "I'll get back to my duties, then." With a glance at Duncan, he added a respectful "Father..." and a bow before backing hastily out of the study.

#

As soon as the man was fully out of earshot, Helena leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes with a heavy sigh. "Jesú...I don't need this," she said quietly.

Duncan's eyebrows rose as he looked up from his papers to glance at her again. "You don't _have_ to take one of the kittens if you don't want to..."

She laughed, shaking her head and looking self-conscious. "No, it's not that. I _would_ like one of Pouncer's kittens, if she has any, it's just..." She bit her lip, looking uncertain. "I've been getting the feeling lately that Brother Everard might be working up to trying to court me, and if he is, I don't want to encourage him." Her face flooding with color, she added in a rush, "He's a very sweet man, and I certainly don't want to hurt his feelings, but...I'm just not interested."

"Ah." Was that a twinge of jealousy that shot through him at the thought of Everard—or any man—trying to court Helena? If so, he had no right to such possessiveness; she wasn't his, nor could she ever be. He toyed absently with the parchment he held, schooling his voice to betray nothing but mild interest. "Simply not interested in Brother Everard's suit, or not interested in remarriage at all? You're young enough yet, after all, and I'm certain Everard will hardly be the last man to think about calling on you in hopes you'll consider a match."

She shook her head again, looking quite determined. "I hope not. I don't intend to marry again. Once was enough."

Duncan frowned. As much as a part of him would rather not think of this woman leaving to become part of another man's life or, perhaps even more painful a thought, remarrying yet remaining at the Schola where he would continue to work with her daily, forced to bury his feelings even more deeply than he was doing already, he also couldn't imagine her spending the rest of her life closing herself off to any possibility of finding the love and happiness he knew she deserved. "Helena," he ventured, "there _are_ good men and happy marriages to be had..."

"Oh yes, I know," she assured him swiftly. "My parents were quite well suited for each other, and I've known several other couples who are quite blessed in their marriages. But...I just don't think I could go through it again myself." She set Catriona's _clàrsach_ aside, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. "At any rate, no man would want me once he knows I'm barren."

Duncan knew at least one man who would certainly be an exception to that general rule, but as that man was vowed to celibacy, he was hardly in a position to volunteer that information. "Not all potential husbands are in need of heirs, you realize. A widower with several children from his first marriage might even be relieved not to have to worry about providing lands and dowry for a second family."

She shook her head again. "I nearly took the veil in Joux. I still consider it now and then, only..." She shrugged.

He studied her intently. "Do you have a true vocation? There's a difference in taking holy vows because you have a genuine calling, and joining a religious order only because you prefer a life that is simple and safe."

She blushed. "I know. In the end, I chose not to because I didn't think I could commit to spending the rest of my life cloistered. I suppose for those with a true calling, there might be a certain freedom in that, paradoxical as it might seem to most people, but for me, I suspect it would have been simply trading one sort of prison for another."

He nodded. "Yes. Exactly. It's the most satisfying life imaginable for those few who are truly called to it, but for those who are simply looking for a refuge from the world, any relief it might have to offer would be merely temporary, though the vows—for better or for worse—are quite permanent."

"That was the conclusion I came to also, once I thought it through more fully." She looked up at him. "I find the Schola to be the best of both worlds, though."

He smiled. "It has the sense of order and security that your soul craves, yet it's not wholly separate from the world, is that it?"

"Yes, you _do_ understand!" Her expression relaxed, and she returned his smile with a brilliant one of her own. "Not to mention that you let me read your books, Father. How could I ever be tempted to leave all _this_ for just one man..." She waved her hand in a sweeping motion that encompassed his study and continued, "Now that you've introduced me to the likes of Orin, Dom Queron, Father Hristopoulos, Ibn Assad...?" She continued reading the names embossed in the spines of the books on his shelves, making Duncan grin.

"Books won't keep you warm in the winter, though," he tried one last time.

"If they don't, you simply haven't piled them around your bed high enough," she countered. " _And_ they never leave their dirty hosen and braies on the floor for a wife to pick up."

The bishop laughed, shaking his head. "You win," he said. "I can't possibly counter that argument."


	11. Part II--Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

 _St. Hilary's-Within-The Walls  
May 23, 1136, the Feast of St. Elen_

Sister Helena sat in one of the _cubicula_ of the Basilica's Schola with four of the older students, leading them in an advanced scrying class. In the small classroom, seated cross-legged around a large polished metal bowl filled with water were an interesting assortment of scholars from various walks of life-Lord Sivney, the Queen's young half-brother; Cass Draper, the draper's widow's daughter from the City of Rhemuth; Jemmy Kitchener, the erstwhile scullery lad from the Castle kitchens who had won a page's education and eventually a place in Sir Sextus's household as his squire due to his quick-thinking bravery that had saved the King's life four years earlier; and Lady Avisa de Arilan, who at age twenty-seven was nearly twice the age of the other students in her class, but her knowledge of the Deryni arts had flourished in the past year since her marriage to Sir Sextus, and her keen interest in practicing her new-found learning in the company of other Deryni had led her to request the favor of being allowed to take certain Schola courses alongside her husband's new squire.

"Nearly any reflective surface can be used for scrying," the magistra reminded her students, "although I prefer a shiral crystal for the purpose, if one can be found and if it is large enough to see the images in its depths easily. However, for new adepts in the art of scrying, a larger reflective surface is much easier to read than a small one, not to mention that large shirals are rather difficult—not to mention expensive—to obtain. So what else can be used?"

Jemmy glanced at the bowl between them and grinned back up at the magistra. "Well, since we're using one today, I'd guess a bowl of water would work," he quipped.

Sivney chuckled, while Cass rolled her eyes at the squire and nudged at his knee with one foot. Avisa shook her head. "I can tell you've been in Sextus's company long enough to have acquired a clear grasp of the obvious, Jemmy."

Helena smiled. "Yes, Jemmy, I salute your keen powers of observation. Now, what else can be used _besides_ that?"

The lad, now that he was done jesting, turned more attentive. "I've seen Sir Sextus use a goblet of wine before."

"Yes, that works well. What else? Cass?" The magistra turned towards the draper's daughter.

"Firelight. Mirrors. I suppose a window might work, under the right circumstances, if it were glazed."

Helena nodded. "Those are all good choices. Anything else?" She looked at Sivney and Avisa.

"Jewels," Sivney offered, "if they're polished to a shine."

"My husband also favors obsidian," Avisa added.

"Yes." Helena smiled. "So you see, not having access to a good-sized piece of shiral shouldn't deter any of you from trying your hand at scrying. In fact," she said, fishing out a tiny bead of shiral the size of a dried pea and holding it in her palm, "while I _can_ scry using this, if nothing better suited to the purpose is available, give me a bowl of water or a goblet of wine any day. The images produced will be much easier to see."

"But what if you do have access to a large enough shiral crystal?" Sivney asked. "Say, if it were the size of an egg or larger?"

"Then you'd be a fortunate man indeed," Helena assured him, "since the inherent power of the crystal itself would work in your favor. But I'm going to assume for the purposes of this class that most young Deryni aren't going to own such a crystal just yet, or even if you do, that it won't always be kept ready to hand so you can scry with it at a moment's notice. So, let's see how well the four of you paid heed to your magistra in Princess Rothana's foundational lessons on scrying." She lit candles at the four corners of the room and drew a thick velvet curtain shut over the small chamber's window, plunging the room into near darkness save for the flickering firelight. Returning to her seat in the circle, she smiled at her dimly-illuminated class. "All right, focus on our scrying surface and allow yourself to enter a light trance."

"What should we be scrying for, Magistra?" Avisa asked, the faintly distant quality to her voice hinting that she was already beginning to follow Helena's instructions.

Helena's thoughts cast about for an easy subject to start off with. Someone close by, here on the Schola premises, would suffice. "Let's find out where Bishop Duncan is at the moment," she suggested.

The class grew silent, focusing their attention on the task. After a few moments, Helena heard a quiet giggle, then another. The _cubiculum_ also grew oddly brighter.

There was an image in the water. It showed the object of their search, standing backlit against an open door, smiling down at them.

Helena turned quickly as the rest of the class burst out in laughter. She spotted the hem of Duncan's cassock, followed the fabric upwards to see his face. He, too, looked amused. "Sorry to interrupt, class." He raised an eyebrow at their instructor. "Looking for me, were you?"

She joined in the laughter, hoping that the room was still dark enough to conceal her growing blush. "I figured you'd make for a handy first attempt. I had no idea _how_ handy, of course."

"I had an odd feeling I was being watched, and since I knew this lesson was in progress, I just thought I'd stop by and see how things were going." He grinned at her students. "Glad to know my watchers are benign, and that I don't need to set up additional wards around the Schola." He glanced at Helena. "When do they learn about anti-scrying measures?"

"Next lesson," she told him.

"Good." He inclined his head at the class. "Carry on." The door swung shut behind him.

#

"You enjoyed that far too much," she accused him later in the relative privacy of his study.

The rector grinned unrepentantly up at her. "Of course I did. That's what you get for picking me as a test subject." He chuckled. "How did the rest of the class go?"

"They all did well. They're a bright group of scholars." Helena looked puzzled as he reached into a lidded box on his desk and drew out a small wrapped package, handing it to her. "What's this?"

"It's your birthday present. I'm sorry to be a day late with it, but I didn't return from my visit with Prince Azim until close to midnight last night, and I figured that was hardly the time to call upon you."

She reached for it, her eyes filled with surprise. "You know my birthday?"

"It was the Feast of St. Elen yesterday, and I thought I'd heard you and Sister Therese discussing both of you having May birthdays recently, so I took a chance. If I've guessed wrong, then happy name day instead."

"Thank you," she said softly, fingering the ribbon securing the present's wrapping. She smiled. "From the size and weight of it, I'll assume it's not a Torenthi carpet," she joked.

Duncan laughed. "No, I think I've learned my lesson on that score," he assured her.

She studied the parcel thoughtfully, hefting it in her hand. "And it's too small and yet too heavy and altogether the wrong shape to be a packet of sweetmeats like those you gave to Sister Therese a few weeks ago."

He grinned. "You know, you _are_ allowed to open it."

"And end the suspense early? Spoilsport." Her blue eyes twinkled up at him before returning their careful study to the gift in her hand. "This fabric wrapping is quite lovely, and not of Gwyneddan make, I should think. Judging by the pattern, my guess is that it came from the Anvillers' land, especially as you've just come back from spending a week there with Prince Azim."

Duncan nodded. "And what of the ribbon?"

Helena examined the brocade weave of the silk ribbon more closely. "That looks to be from even farther east, but I suppose that's no surprise, since I imagine it came from one of the Anviller souks along the trade routes." She glanced back up at him. "How am I doing so far?"

Duncan chuckled. "Quite well. Do you plan to open your present before your next birthday?"

She grinned. "Impatient, are you?" She opened her belt pouch, pretending to consider stashing the small present away for a later inspection, then paused, her eyes laughing up at the rector. "Oh, I haven't the heart to torment you! You're like a young lad, fair bursting with excitement to open up his Twelfth Night present and help everyone else with theirs also."

"Guilty as charged," he affirmed, his eyes laughing back.

"Well, I suppose I can't draw this out too much longer," she said, deliberately untying the ribbon with maddening slowness, drawing it through her fingers in an attempt to flatten out the wrinkles in it and giving it a thorough inspection before laying it to one side. "I suppose I shall have to open it after all." Her fingers lingered on a fold of the fabric, hesitating to reveal its secrets, as she gave the loosely wrapped gift one final anticipatory examination, savoring the mystery of its contents just a short while longer.

Duncan's suppressed laughter burst forth from him. "You, my dear lady, are a tease! If you're not going to open that, I could just take it back."

In answer, she released the gathered folds of fabric, allowing them to fall open to reveal the tiny statuette perched on the cloth draped over her palm. She gave a quick intake of breath as she beheld the craftsmanship of the object she held. "Oh, my! Oh, Father, it's truly…oh, it's lovely!" She glowed with delight as she brought a finger up to trace the delicate lines of a sleeping kitten painstakingly carved out of moonstone. The kitten also seemed to glow from within as it caught the sunlight streaming through the window and reflected it back, shimmering softly beneath Helena's wondering gaze. She blinked back tears.

"I'd say it reminded me of Pouncer, but I don't think I've ever seen Pouncer that still," Duncan joked, lightening the moment.

Helena swallowed hard, regaining control of her voice before speaking. "No, even when she's fast asleep, she's a twitchy little beast." She ventured a look up at him. "Thank you, Father Duncan." The words seemed inadequate, and she gave him a spontaneous one-armed hug, drawing back from him nearly as quickly, feeling flustered. "I'd…um…better go find a place for my pretty kitty in my chamber. I'm afraid I might break it if I carry it around with me all day."

#

She wasn't sure how to react.

Helena closed the curtains of her Llanneddan box bed, creating a ball of handfire and setting it free to glow over her head as she sat within, its soft bluish light bouncing off the white-painted canopy of the enclosed space and illuminating the cozy nook which was her bastion of privacy in her shared room. She placed the figurine carefully within the bed's built in cabinet, making room for it alongside the small stack of books she had most recently borrowed from the Royal Library and the rector's study, and using the fabric square that had wrapped it as a shelf covering. She wished she could keep it on display more openly, but she was afraid one of the Basilica cats might damage the fragile carving if they leaped upon it or batted it off some more accessible tabletop and treated it as a plaything, and at any rate, keeping it in her enclosed bed would mean it would remain close by her. As the daughter of a merchant who had imported such wares from far-flung kingdoms to her native Llannedd, she knew that the carved figure, though quite beautiful and cunningly wrought, was not so costly as to make an unseemly present from a man to a woman who was no kinswoman. Still, it was by far the most precious gift any man had given to her since she'd left her father's home as a young maiden off to her great-aunt's household in Joux to seek her place in the world. Gaston had certainly not bothered to bring home pretty trinkets to please a wife. Oh, perhaps a small present now and then during his courtship of her, and a time or two after that, when their marriage had been young and he'd still believed she would give him his desired heirs soon. But even then, his gifts had normally been chosen at a moment's whim, not with any sign that he'd given the matter much thought. Even her wedding ring, she'd discovered later, had been left to his squire's choosing, for he'd been too drunk with celebrating his upcoming nuptials to give the matter of ring selection any thought, might well have even shown up for the wedding without one had not his squire reminded him of the need. How foolish, or perhaps simply naive, she'd been to ever have fancied herself in love, or even well on her way to it, with such a man! That illusion had died soon enough, of course.

She reached out a fingertip to stroke the smooth curve of the figurine's curled body, lost in thought. Had Bishop Duncan simply chosen a carved figure at random from one of the stalls at the Anviller souk? No, she'd come to know him too well to believe that. He'd have given the matter some thought, considered what he knew of her likes and dislikes—and it hardly took great powers of observation for anyone here at the Schola to have discovered her love for cats, after all—and selected his gift with care.

Then again, he'd do the same for anyone, she realized, no matter how great or how small the gift. The sweetmeats he'd selected for Sister Therese had been her favorite kind, Therese had confided to her later, thrilled and a bit astonished that the bishop had troubled to discover what sort would most please her. So Helena knew she couldn't read _too_ much into the bishop's thoughtfulness.

Her mind knew this, but her errant heart wished to believe otherwise, if only for a few moments. She picked up the figurine, cradling it in her cupped palms, and laid her cheek against its smooth form for a moment. In that unguarded moment, with her shields relaxed, a flurry of quick images sifted through her mind at the touch of cool stone against her skin, nearly causing her to drop the statuette in surprise. Instead, she lifted her head, focusing on the luminous stone, and allowed the impressions to well up within her.

 _A gem-cutter, work-hardened hands working the soft moonstone, wielding metal tools with skill and love for his craft. An exchange, a trader's wagon next, a long journey to distant lands, the carved stone changing hands several times until at last it reached a desert merchant's stall. Examined, assessed, replaced by several potential buyers until one man had come—a priest in Gwyneddan garb—his blue eyes lighting with pleasure as he studied the carved cat closely, turning it this way and that, holding it in his palm beneath the desert sun before making his final choice. Coin had been exchanged and a wrapping selected, and at last the stone cat had left the marketplace, tucked securely inside the bishop's clothing, next to his heart._

Helena's mind returned to the present. She found herself cradling the cat against her chest, her cheeks wet with tears. She brought it to her lips, laying a gentle kiss atop its head, and returned it to its resting place on the cabinet shelf.

#

 _Saint Hilary's Basilica sacristy_

 _May 24, 1136_

Bishop Duncan washed his hands in preparation for vesting for the Mass. _"Da, Domine, virtutem manibus meis ad abstergendum omnem maculam ut sine pollutione mentis et corporis valeam tibi servire,"_ he prayed as he performed his ablutions. _Give virtue to my hands, O Lord, that being cleansed from all stain I might serve you with purity of mind and body._ Purity of body he could claim easily enough, but purity of mind was more difficult this morning. Even now his mind threatened to drift back to the dream that had awakened him, but he wrenched his thoughts back to the moment.

Putting aside his wayward thoughts, he reached for his amice, the snowy white linen vestment which represented the helmet of salvation. Kissing the cross embroidered upon it, he murmured, _"Impone, Domine, capiti meo galeam salutis, ad expugnandos diabolicos incursus."_ _Place upon me, O Lord, the helmet of salvation, that I may overcome the assaults of the devil._ It was a symbol of humility, the amice, and he certainly felt humbled that morning, no more a master of his own mind now, it would seem, than he'd been as a hot-blooded young man in the throes of his first love. The memory of his long-lost Maryse brought the ghost of a smile to his face, but he could hardly afford the distraction at the moment, so he cast off that thought as well as he finished touching the amice to the top of his head and tying the linen covering around his neck and shoulders before reaching for his alb.

 _"Dealba me, Domine, et munda cor meum; ut, in sanguine Agni dealbatus, gaudiis perfruare sempiternis."_ He kissed the cross on the alb as well, donning it over his cassock and amice as he pondered the words he had just prayed. _Purify me, O Lord, and cleanse my heart; that, being made white in the Blood of the Lamb, I may come to eternal joy._ As always during this preparatory time of vesting before the Mass, he felt peace settle over him like a garment, assuring him of the certainty of his true calling. Nevertheless, there were moments when it was a difficult thing to be a priest. Today, the carnal man within him was at war with the spiritual leader and healer of souls he was called to be. He'd had such moments before, had learned to accept both sides of his nature, yet such struggles were at times no less difficult for his having come to terms with them years ago.

Reaching for his cincture, he tied it around his waist, praying as he did so, _"Praecinge me, Domine, cingulo puritatis, et exstingue in lumbis meis humorem libidinis; ut maneat in me virtus continentia et castitatis." Gird me, O Lord, with the girdle of purity, and extinguish in me all evil desires, that the virtue of chastity may abide in me._ It was not, the bishop understood, the natural desire of a man to unite with a woman as one flesh which was evil, for if that were so, how then could any man and wife know the joys of holy matrimony, that blessed sacrament, much less fulfill the Lord's command to be fruitful and multiply? But just as a man who had already chosen a wife must vow to forsake his pursuit of other women and remain faithful to her, he had chosen long ago to forsake the earthly joys of marriage for the higher calling of his priesthood. It was, at times, a heavy burden to bear. He had hoped the passage of time would still his fleshly yearnings, but as he had reached his middle years with little sign of such desires waning appreciably, he'd resigned himself to the knowledge that, for him at least, the struggle was apt to prove the work of a lifetime. So be it, then. As struggles went, it was a common enough one among men who sought to be faithful stewards of their passions, regardless of whether or not they were clergy.

He took up his stole, the green silk soft between his fingers, and kissed the cross embroidered in gold thread upon it before draping it around his neck and securing the ends of it with his cincture. _"Redde mihi, Domine, stolam immortalitatis, quam perdidi in praevaricatione primi parentis: et, quamvis indignus accedo ad tuum sacrum mysterium, merear tamen gaudium sempiternum."_ The flow of the silk in his hands reminded him briefly of his dream again, of the soft silken fabric sliding over creamy shoulders as his beloved one slowly untied the lacing securing the neckline, the gown falling away to display luminous bare skin as her brilliant blue eyes laughed merrily up at him. No, he mustn't think of that now! Should try to banish the dream from his mind completely, tucked away behind tight shields and forgotten so he wouldn't be tempted to linger over it again, allowing an innocent nocturnal longing to smolder and blaze up into the flame of unchecked lust. _Restore unto me, O Lord, the stole of immortality, which was lost through the guilt of our first parents: and, although I am unworthy to approach Your sacred Mysteries, nevertheless grant unto me eternal joy._

There was only the chasuble left to put on, for as the bishop officiating over the day's Mass he would not don the maniple signifying his acceptance of suffering until he stood before the holy altar, after praying the Confiteor before the people. As he put on the green chasuble with its golden cross emblazoned on the back, signifying the yoke of Christ which he bore, he prayed, _"Domine, qui dixisti: Iugum meam suave est et onus meum leve: fac, ut istud portare sic valeam, quod consequar tuam gratiam. Amen."_ He gave a wry smile as he considered the meaning of the prayer. _O Lord, Who said: My yoke is easy and My burden light: grant that I may bear it well and follow after You with thanksgiving. So be it._ And indeed, so might it ever be.

Bishop Duncan put on his pectoral cross on its green and gold cord, took up his mitre and crozier, and awaited the moment when it would be time to begin the Mass.


	12. Part II--Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

 _Top of Abbot's Tower, Saint-Hilary's-Within-the-Walls  
June 1, 1136_

"What does Ædwige's letter say, Sister Helena?" Princess Rothana asked as she sat in the sunlight with two of her magistral colleagues, her hair uncustomarily unbound like the other women's, for they had just come from bathing and were taking advantage of the sunny afternoon to allow their hair to dry in the warm summer breeze, hidden from others' eyes by their vantage point behind the parapet at the top of Abbot's Tower, high above the Basilica courtyard.

Sister Helena reached for the letter she'd tucked into the sleeve of her summerweight gown—one of the workaday gowns Duchess Richenda had passed on to her shortly before Twelfth Night—and began to skim over it again. "She writes that she has had a chance to visit Concaradine at last, and was quite taken by the sights there, although she doesn't think the town anywhere near as lovely as our Rhemuth. And she expresses her gratitude for the heart cordial, but fears it is beginning to lose its effectiveness, as Sir Gilrae's health seems to be in somewhat of a decline despite his diligent efforts to avoid undue exertions."

Sister Therese raised a skeptical eyebrow. "If the man was trying to avoid 'undue exertions' at his age, wedding a sixteen year old bride was hardly the way to go about it," she observed.

Helena gave a wry smile. "I believe she meant his _other_ exertions, Tessa," she said drily, "though apparently _those_ have proven unfruitful as well, at least so far."

"It's early days yet," the infirmarian said. "Some brides don't quicken in the first year."

"Some never quicken at all," Helena noted, her voice soft with sorrow. The infirmarian, knowing the reason for Helena's sudden change of mood, simply nodded and patted her hand.

The door leading to the tower roof suddenly opened, and all three women hastily reached for their veil bands and veils, quickly pinning the head coverings back into place before turning to see who had happened upon them. It was the rector, looking amused as he watched the flurry of activity. "I apologize for intruding on your privacy, ladies, but you needn't hasten to veil on my account. I've seen enough maidens with their hair down not to be unduly shocked at finding a bevy of unveiled beauties on my rooftop." He smiled. "Brother Everard has discovered that Pouncer has left us a few presents in my study, and I seem to recall at least one of you has a vested interest."

Helena brightened. "She's kittened?"

"She has indeed, or at least she's in the process of doing so, and in a most inconvenient spot, I might add. So as soon as she's done with the business, it would be best if we could convince her to shift her litter to some other, more out of the way location."

"Oh, dear!" Princess Rothana smiled sympathetically. "Where did she decide to settle in? I hope she's not in your study's hearth?"

Bishop Duncan shook his head. "No, I've little enough need for my fireplace in June, so aside from not wanting her lying in what few ashes are left in the firebox and strewing them about, and trailing sooty paw prints everywhere, I'd almost not mind that. But she's decided to kitten in my Transfer Portal niche instead." He gave a resigned chuckle. "Right in the very middle of it."

Sister Helena burst out laughing. "Oh no! Hopefully she'll be done before Master Janos's next scheduled class, so he doesn't trip over the lot of them when he comes through from Torenth."

Duncan quickly thought over the week's class schedule. "No worries there; Janos usually arrives via the Portal in the Royal Library Annex, and Father John walks him over here to the Schola. It's Bishop Arilan who's most likely to come in on top of them if we can't get Pouncer and her new family moved by tomorrow evening. I'll see if I can get a message through to him to arrive by way of the Annex instead, at least this week."

Helena stood. "I'll go on down and see how Pouncer is faring, and see if she can be convinced to let us move her."

Sister Therese stopped her with a hand on her wrist. "You're going down like that, dear?" She grinned. "Sweet Jesú, poor Brother Everard is likely to trip over his own tongue if you do!"

Helena's cheeks turned scarlet as she lifted her hand to her hair. It was only slightly damp now. She glanced uncertainly at the Bishop, who smiled back.

"More's the pity, but Sister Therese is right, it might be best if you tame those fiery curls before you come downstairs, or Brother Everard's likely to think he's seeing a heavenly vision." He chuckled. "I'll let him know you'll be down in a few minutes."

#

Sister Helena, her hair freshly braided and tucked well out of sight under a fresh veil wrapped around her head turban-style, crouched beside the new mother, watching Pouncer lick her latest-born kitten clean. Two others were already lined up before her, nuzzling at her belly in search of nourishment, and a contraction rippled through her, warning Helena that yet another kitten was on its way. Brother Everard had attempted to see to the new mother's comfort by offering her an old blanket, but Pouncer had been too preoccupied thus far to take much notice of it.

Helena attempted to rearrange the blanket in order to provide the newborn kittens with more warmth, worried that they might take a chill from being damp and in contact with a stone-paved floor. The cat looked up from her work to shoot a green-eyed glare at the magistra, doubtless warning her against interfering with her new family. Helena heeded the warning, drawing back a slight distance from the laboring cat to avoid agitating her needlessly.

"It's a miracle, childbirth, isn't it?" she mused softly. "I wonder if cats feel the pain as human mothers do, or if it's easier for them somehow?"

Duncan's keen eyes took in the message conveyed by the mouser's ears and tail. "She's not in the best of moods right now, despite all that purring. I'd say she's at the very least not entirely comfortable."

Helena slowly extended her hand towards Pouncer's forehead, thinking to use her powers to ease the feline's discomfort, but was rewarded by a low growl of warning. She drew her hand back, glancing at Duncan.

He quirked a smile at her, knowing what she'd hoped to do. "Too bad Dhugal's not here. His rapport with animals is better than mine."

The magistra's eyes brightened with a sudden thought. "No, but Duncan Michael _is_ here, and he's inherited his father's knack. I suspect any child who could have fish following his commands at age three could probably convince a testy cat that we mean her no harm." She sat back on her heels. "Brother Everard, are Lady Sophie's beginning scholars still in class?"

The man thought back to the last chiming of the Basilica clock. "I think they were let out nearly a quarter hour past. I could check the boys' dormitorium to see if he's returned there."

"Would you, please?" Duncan asked.

The Servant of Saint Camber bowed his assent to the bishop and hurried off to look. Duncan shot a glance at Helena's turbaned head. "Is that your new washerwoman look?" he whispered.

"Do you like it?" she asked, pretending to preen.

"No," he said bluntly, making her laugh. The sudden sound startled Pouncer, who hissed angrily, but another contraction rippled through her just at that moment, pushing another tiny kitten into the world. Helena took up the damp towel that Brother Everard had held earlier when she'd first arrived, and was poised to assist in cleaning the new arrival should her help become necessary, but the mother cat expertly took charge of the situation, licking the tiny kitten until it was clear of the amniotic sac and its nostrils were cleared for taking its first breaths. That task done, Pouncer turned her attention to the umbilicus and afterbirth.

"Whoa!" said a voice behind Duncan and Helena as Duncan's grandson entered the room, half-skidding to a stop as he caught sight of the cat and kittens. "Ew, is she eating it?" Duncan Michael wrinkled his little freckled nose.

Duncan held out his hand to his grandson, inviting him closer. "No, only the afterbirth. She won't harm her baby."

The lad tilted his head at the cat, studying her intently. "Did she poop the little kitties out?"

Helena stifled a laugh. Duncan's laugh lines deepened, betraying his amusement, though he kept his voice serious enough as he answered, "I suppose it might appear that way, but no, that's not quite how it works." Something moved within Pouncer's abdomen, and Duncan added, "You're likely to see soon enough, though; I think she's about to have another one."

"There's a lot of them, aren't there, Papa Duncan?" Duncan Michael considered the new litter. "Did I look like that when I was borned?"

"Hm." Duncan pretended to consider the question thoughtfully. "You were a good bit less furry, I would imagine." The boy giggled, and Duncan smiled at him. "I wasn't in the room when you were born, of course, but I saw you later that evening. You weren't much bigger than Pouncer."

The cat began to bear down again, and a moment later another kitten slipped out, this one tinier than the rest. Duncan Michael wrinkled his nose again as Pouncer began her motherly ministrations. "My mama didn't have to do _that_ , did she?" he asked, surprising a laugh from his grandfather.

"No. I'm sure her midwife cleaned you up the usual way for human and Deryni babies, like Lady Mhairi or your Mama Miri cleans baby Jared."

Duncan Michael watched as Pouncer nudged her runt towards a spare nipple. "I think she's done. She's not hurting so bad now." He frowned thoughtfully as he looked at the squirming mass latched onto the mother cat. "Does it hurt a lot when they go in?" When all those kittens first goed inside their mama, I mean.

The bishop bit his lip, trying to keep a straight face. "You'd think so from all the yowling, but maybe not." Helena turned her face sharply away from them, her cheeks warming and her shoulders shaking from the effort not to laugh. "It's really hard to say, lad, since I've never been a cat."

That answer seemed to satisfy the boy, but after a moment he thought of something else. "How _did_ they all get inside her anyway?"

Helena wondered if Duncan planned to give the child an honest answer, or if a woman's presence in the room might inhibit him from doing so. She sensed Duncan weighing the question and trying to judge the best way to respond, and tried to think of some pretext for leaving so he and his grandson would have more privacy, but before she could do so, Brother Everard smiled and offered an explanation.

"Oh, we think it might have been Hilary's doing. Either his or Camber's."

Duncan looked up at the gray-robed Servant, the amusement lurking in his eyes growing. "Yes, that seems most likely. Or possibly even Jerome's."

Helena looked away again, this time to hide her own merriment. Everard and Duncan were not referring to the saints, as the child undoubtedly supposed, but to three of the tomcats who roamed the Basilica and Castle grounds.

She heard Duncan Michael's awestruck voice. "You mean it was a miracle?"

Duncan chuckled. "Lad, _every_ new life is a miracle."

#

Once Pouncer had finished with her labors, the bishop's grandson was able to charm his way into her good graces long enough to persuade her that a cozy spot under the corner table would be a better location to raise a newborn family. Brother Everard moved the tattered old blanket accordingly, creating a comfortable nest for the felines, which Pouncer inspected, proclaimed satisfactory, and settled into. She stopped short of allowing any human or Deryni help with transporting her babies, though, choosing instead to carry them one at a time to her new bed until they'd all been relocated. Exhausted from her efforts, she curled around them all protectively and was soon fast asleep. Duncan breathed a quiet sigh of relief and lifted the temporary block he'd been forced to place on the Transfer Portal, allowing access in as well as out again, though he took the precaution of placing a faint ward around the niche, not to keep its usual users out, but to deter Pouncer and the kittens from taking up residence in it and being inconveniently underfoot again.

#

 _The Schola Refectory, St. Hilary's-Within-The-Walls  
June 4, 1136_

Duncan gravitated towards the sounds of laughter coming from his magisterial staff. Since they had gathered in the refectory for a brief, informal meeting about the Schola's upcoming exams rather than for one of the regularly scheduled meals, no students were present. Instead of sitting at the High Table, the magistri had gathered around one of the long tables normally reserved for scholars, listening to a tale Sister Helena was sharing with evident enthusiasm, judging by her broad grin and expansive hand gestures. Sister Therese sat beside her, looking close to breathing difficulties from her giggles.

"...so I'd just finished the book and I was about to douse my handfire and go to sleep, when I heard an odd noise coming from the other bed. It's Tessa, and she's huffing and puffing as if her bedcurtains are on fire and her very life depends on her blowing the flames out." Helena demonstrated with a few exaggerated puffs of air, sending her listeners into gales of laughter again.

"Well, I was done reading also, and how was I to know you couldn't put out handfire that way? _I'm_ not Deryni!" Therese exclaimed, although her continued giggles showed she didn't mind in the least being the cause for everyone else's merriment.

Duncan paused beside her. "Let me guess...Sister Helena levitated a ball of her handfire inside your box bed so you'd have light to read?"

"Yes. And in hers as well, like she generally does. I usually use a candle to read by, but her way's safer, you must admit."

Duncan smiled. "Quite so. We wouldn't want you catching your bed on fire, especially with you still in it." He struggled against a grin and lost. "Tess, didn't it occur to you that you could have simply asked Helena to put the light out once you were done with it?"

The nun pretended to look affronted. "Well, what fun would _that_ have been?"

The rector shook his head in pretended dismay and took his seat at the table. "So, magistri, what business have I already missed?"

Princess Rothana exchanged a look with Father John. "Well, we _attempted_ to name the new kittens, but I don't think we've succeeded."

Duncan looked up from the wax tablet of notes that he held. "Wouldn't their eventual owners want to be the ones to name them?"

"Oh, most certainly," Brother Everard agreed, "but as Sister Helena pointed out earlier, it would be nice to have something to call them in the meantime besides descriptions like 'the big, red, fluffy one' or 'the dainty little runt.'

The Royal Librarian spoke up. "I figured, since they're Basilica kittens, they're wards of the Schola, right? So if they're wards, why not call them _Primus, Secundus, Tertius, Quartus_ , and _Fiat Lux_?" Father John laughed at Duncan's groan. "Yes, that's pretty much how everyone else reacted too."

The bishop buried his face in his hand briefly, his shoulders shaking. "Right," he said once he looked up again. "Now, on to slightly more pressing business..."

#

 _The Rector's study, St. Hilary's Basilica  
June 7, late afternoon_

"Here is my list of intermediate-level scholars who have mastered this term's coursework," Princess Rothana said, setting an open wax tablet book before Bishop Duncan and pointing out the first page of text, "and here are the scholars who still need to work on their skills before they can move up. The notations beside each name show which areas they require extra study and practice in."

Duncan perused the two sets of names, glad to see that the list on the second tablet was much shorter than the list on the first one. "All right. Are they far enough along that we could remediate them with a few extra practice lessons, or do you think it would be advisable to hold them back for a full term in those areas?"

Rothana leaned over his desk, pointing out the top two names. "These two are almost ready to move up. The other three have made satisfactory progress in most areas of their training, but they're really struggling in their few weak areas. Take Oswin, for instance. He's mastered basic meditation and visualization, he can Mind-See and Mind-Speak effortlessly, but when it comes to scrying of any sort, it's like he's stuck. He's approaching it correctly, but it's like his efforts to do so on his own are almost blocked. I can establish a link with him and see what he's trying to do, and if I'm in his mind when he's focused on the shiral, he's able to visualize then, but not on his own yet." She sighed. "It's frustrating. I feel like I'm doing something wrong in my instruction of him, but I don't know what."

Duncan traced the boy's name with one finger, looking thoughtful. "And it might have nothing to do with your instructional method at all, you know," he attempted to reassure her. "Scrying, even if Oswin learns to do it on his own, might just be one of those things that never comes naturally for him. After all, some Deryni have particular areas of unusual giftedness; maybe he simply has a particular area of greater weakness. But I can check around, see if any of the other magistri have encountered that sort of problem and found a solution for it. If not here, then maybe in one of the other Kingdoms. His basic skills are fine, though?"

"Oh yes, no problems at all with those."

"I don't imagine he's been exposed to much ritual magic yet, at his level of training?"

"No, not yet. Not unless you're counting his own Naming Ceremony and the rudiments of using Ward Cubes. No problems with that either."

"All right. Let's just keep an eye on his progress then, encourage him in the areas where he's doing well, and I'll scout around and see what I can find out that might help him get past whatever is hindering his scrying abilities." He called up a picture of the gangly young scholar in his mind's eye. "Oswin's hit a growth spurt recently, hasn't he? I keep seeing flashes of ankle under his robes."

Rothana laughed. "Yes, I think he's shot up at least half a foot this term. Those same robes were slightly too long for him back in January. Sister Helena even offered to let the hems out, but Oswin said his mother's ladies would tend to it when he returns home for the summer break."

Duncan smiled. "Perhaps his current difficulties are something he'll outgrow as well. Master Janos says that some areas of the mind seem to develop more quickly than others, and I would imagine there's a lot of individual variances as well."

Rothana wandered over to where Pouncer lay nursing her litter. The mother cat cast a tolerant glance up at her before turning her attention back to her kittens. The princess glanced back over her shoulder at Duncan. "Have all of the kittens been claimed yet?"

"I'm not sure," the bishop replied. "I know Sister Helena wants one, and Brother Everard said something about reserving one for the Queen. I don't know if the other three have been promised to anyone yet. Why, would you like one?"

"Me?" Rothana shrugged. "I hadn't really thought about it, though now that Albin isn't sharing my chamber anymore, I suppose a cat _would_ be nice company. But I was thinking of Ædwige's letter, actually. She could use a little mouser or two, if there's some way to get them to her once they're weaned."

Duncan pondered the problem. "Hm. I would say that Helena could drop them off on her way to visit her family in Llannedd, but they won't be fully weaned for another couple of months, and I imagine she'd be on her way back here by then."

Rothana looked surprised. "I thought Helena had canceled her trip, or at least postponed it for another year?"

"Postponed?" Duncan looked puzzled. "Why? She was quite looking forward to the trip when we last talked about it."

"Hm." Rothana leaned back against the corner table, looking thoughtful. "When was that? Several months ago at least, I should think?"

Duncan thought back. "Yes, now that you mention it, it's been a while since the subject came up. Has something happened to make her reconsider?"

The princess paused, looking as if she were pondering how to reply. At last she offered, "I don't think anything in particular has come up, aside from not having quite enough saved up to go this year."

"Not enough?" The rector looked puzzled. "Isn't her dower money sufficient? For that matter, I know her Schola stipend isn't all that large, but I don't think she's spent all that much of it."

"That's the problem, though, Father Duncan. She draws her full support from the Schola, and even though we provide her room and board and she's saved most of her stipend aside from what she's needed for basic personal necessities, she hasn't been able to set enough by yet for the trip home and back."

"But..." Duncan frowned. "Her late husband's brother hasn't been sending her any support?"

Rothana raised an eyebrow at him. "Baron Gaspard? Do you think she'd apply to _him_ for it?"

No, he realized suddenly as he thought back to her reaction to her brief encounter with her former brother-in-law at the last Twelfth Night Revel. She wouldn't want any contact with him, even if it meant cutting herself off completely from the financial support that was hers by right of marriage to his late brother. He wondered how much of Helena's story the princess knew; surmised she must know some of it, if not all, to make such an astute guess about Helena's probable reason for avoiding contact with her former relations.

"She would have needed her dower when she initially went to the Convent of Saint Jerome, though, wouldn't she?"

"Oh, doubtless," Rothana agreed, "though I know that when she came here, she asked the abbess not to tell the Baron where she had gone. She may have meant for her dower money to be forwarded on to here, but if so, her instructions were misconstrued. Any continuing payments have probably been sent back to Baron Gaspard. I doubt he'd have felt very motivated to search for her, given how much not knowing her present whereabouts must have enriched his coffers."

Duncan's lips tightened. "He's known since Twelfth Night that she's here in Rhemuth, though. If nothing else, he could have sent her dower to the King and asked him to forward the payments to their rightful owner."

"He _could_ have, yes. Though from what little Helena has shared with me of her earlier life, I got the impression that the man is a bit...self-centered."

Concern radiated from the magistra, but not the sort of fury Duncan suspected she'd have felt if she knew exactly how uncaring of Helena's well-being both her late husband and his brother had been. 'Self-centered' was a gross understatement at best. No, Rothana must not know the whole story behind Helena's precipitous departure from her former barony. Either that or she believed he was ignorant of it and was being extremely circumspect in shielding her emotions from him. He doubted it, though. The princess had matured in the years since she'd first arrived in Rhemuth as a fiery young novice so moved by her righteous anger at the atrocities that had been visited upon the nuns at Saint Brigid's by the Mearan army that she'd over-shared her memories of those outrages with the young King Kelson in her fury. But despite having greater control over her passions now than she'd had as a young maiden, she was no less susceptible than she'd ever been to being moved by such abuses as Helena had endured, and some of those feelings would have surely been evident had Rothana known Helena's full story.

It was up to him, then, to redress Baron Gaspard's failure to continue the dower payments which were Helena's due. That would hardly atone for the harm Gaspard had done to her already, but a dowager baroness had a right to such support until such time as she chose to remarry, and if Helena had no such intention, then mayhap it was Baron Gaspard's own damn fault if his behavior towards her had played any part in putting her off the idea of remarriage altogether. If Gaspard's baronial coffers were to suffer as a result of needing to divide his barony's wealth with his brother's widow, Duncan certainly wasn't minded to feel any sympathy for the lout. He wouldn't divulge Helena's confidences, of course, but the matter of the withheld dower was a matter that could be looked into and, if necessary to ensure Baron Gaspard's compliance, a grievance could be filed on her behalf with his overlord, the Duke of Joux.


	13. Part II--Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

 _St. Hilary's Basilica, Rhemuth  
August 10, 1136_

"Sister Helena, may I have a few moments of your time in my study, please?"

The magistra looked up in surprise from the alms basket she carried as she collected the last of the used trenchers for the Schola's almoner to distribute to the poor along with the leftovers from the noon meal. The last of the few students remaining at the Schola during the summer months were filing out of the refectory, the last two glancing back at the bishop in mild curiosity. "Certainly, Father. Is something amiss?"

He waved the scholars on, smiling reassuringly at them as he answered, "Oh, no, nothing like that. It's just...a matter of business has come up, and as it concerns you, I thought we should discuss it somewhere a bit more private."

"Of course," Helena murmured, looking as puzzled as she felt as she followed him through the Basilica to his study. He waved her in before him, leaving the door only partially open behind him in the familiar signal to other scholars and magistri that while he could be interrupted if necessary, some privacy was requested. Customarily the door was left fully open if any of the female scholars or magistri were alone with the rector in his study, so as to avoid even the merest suggestion of scandal, though when more sensitive matters were being discussed within, the half-closed door and, if need be, a private word with Brother Everard or one of the other Servants to remain close at hand and announce any visitors before allowing them into the bishop's presence was Duncan's preferred means of balancing the needs of discretion and privacy with the need for circumspect behavior. She could think of no sensitive matters that needed to be discussed between them at the moment, though. Her few remaining students were doing quite well in the refresher lessons and individual tutorials she kept them occupied with while they awaited their classmates' return, and it was Princess Rothana who customarily assisted the rector with the Schola's business matters, not herself. Perhaps he'd discovered some intriguing application for Deryni magic in one of the old manuscripts she and John had been perusing over the summer, then, and wished to discuss it with her?

Or could something have come up during his recent trip to Beldour that he wanted to talk about? He'd been absent from the Schola for several weeks, part of Prince Payne's entourage to Torenth, since the King of Torenth's young sister Stanisha had become of an age to marry earlier in the year and therefore Payne Haldane had set forth for Beldour in the middle of June to claim his affianced bride. The young Duke of Travlum and his new Duchess had not yet returned to Rhemuth, as they would be making a series of diplomatic visits to various Courts along their route home, but the Bishop had left behind too many responsibilities at the Schola to return at their more leisurely pace, so he had been given leave to return earlier with his own personal escort. His smaller party had just arrived from their eastern sojourn two evenings before. Might something unexpected have happened during the state visit to Beldour, then, perhaps some alarming development he wished to discuss with her? But no, surely that couldn't be it; he'd said it was a matter of business concerning _her_ , and what possible matter could have arisen in Torenth that would have the least bit of bearing on her personally?

Whatever she'd expected, it wasn't what Bishop Duncan presented her with once he reached his desk. He reached under it, extracting a locked strongbox and unlocking it to reveal a bag tied at one end. He handed it to her. It was unexpectedly heavy for its size, and judging by the shifting mass of circular objects within, filled with coin.

"I apologize for the weight. Under normal circumstances, I would have accepted tallies, but I didn't want to run the risk of the man finding some way to cheat you twice."

Helena was baffled. "What man?" She glanced down at the bag, a glimmer of suspicion dawning. "What _is_ this, Father?"

"It's your dower. Your first payment, at any rate. Seven years' worth of withheld payments was a bit more than your former brother -in-law had on hand at the time—actually, _this_ much was well beyond what he'd brought to Ducal Court with him, but the Duc du Joux advanced him a loan."

She felt dazed. "The Duc...You were in Joux?!"

Duncan shrugged. "Among other places, yes. I might have taken a side trip or two while I was traveling in the vicinity."

"But..." A glimmer of fear shot through her. "Does Gaspard know where I am?" Her hands began to tremble, and she lowered the bag of money, dropping it on Duncan's desk.

His eyes darkened with concern. He took her hands in his. "I didn't tell him you're at the Schola, if that's what you fear, though if he knows you are Deryni, he may well have guessed by now. Certainly he's known you were here in Rhemuth since last January, though. You're not worried for your safety here, are you?"

She knew it was silly, being afraid of Gaspard here in the heart of the Basilica—what was the man going to do, barge into Rhemuth Castle, make his way to the Schola, and lay siege to an entire community of Deryni? And then what, demand that Helena follow him back to Joux and become a good and compliant stay-at-home dowager baroness? On what legal grounds? But fearing him had become longstanding habit, and such habits were hard to break free from.

She shook her head, attempting a smile. "No, of course not. Not here. It's just...I'd really rather not have to see him again, that's all."

"Good, because I told Baron Gaspard he needn't deliver the rest of your dower in person. In fact, he's not sending it to the Schola at all. It's to be sent to King Kelson annually, then forwarded on to you wherever you might happen to be in residence at the time." Duncan paused, then added reluctantly. "I'm hoping you'll stay at the Schola, of course, since we greatly value your skills both as a teacher and as a researching scholar, but if you'd hoped to return to Llannedd in due time, you'll need your dower." His voice softened. "And should you choose to remain here, having your proper dower will at least give you greater freedom to come and go during the term breaks. You shouldn't have to scrimp on your basic necessities just to scrape together enough coin to visit your family. You're a baroness, Helena!"

She looked down at their joined hands, fighting back tears. "Thank you, Father. I just hope..." She glanced uncertainly up at him. "Gaspard can't have been very happy to be called upon to honor the debt, especially if you confronted him in Ducal Court..."

A grim smile touched Duncan's lips. "He was...reluctant, yes. He couldn't very well find a good reason to deny you the jointure that's yours by legal right, though. Not when approached about it in front of his overlord. Don't worry, I did allow him to save face somewhat by acknowledging that he couldn't forward the payments to you earlier due to not being aware of your whereabouts. But I also reminded him that he's known of your presence in Rhemuth since this past January, and I implied that Kelson was rather annoyed that the delay in this year's payment had inconvenienced you."

Helena's eyes widened. "The _King_ knows?" Her cheeks turned pink.

"No, not the full story," Duncan reassured her. "Just that you are owed a good deal of dower money that had become misdirected since your departure from the Sisters of Saint Jerome, and to expect annual installments to arrive at the Castle to be forwarded to you, since you and your late husband's family are not on good terms and you wish to avoid more direct dealings with the current baron or his retainers. I hope that was vague enough?" His smile grew slightly. "Baron Gaspard needn't know exactly what King Kelson is or isn't aware of, of course. All he needs to know is that you're somehow in the King of Gwynedd's protection now. I'm trusting the man isn't an utter idiot, and that he'll take the warning to leave you well enough alone."

"Thank you." Helena blinked rapidly to dispel the tears threatening to blind her. "I'm grateful, truly I am, it's just...I didn't want any ties left between us...between myself and Gaspard, I mean. I know it's my legal due, but I don't want to be in his debt in any way..."

"Helena." Duncan's voice, quiet but firm, stopped her rambling in mid-stream. He released one of her hands to cup her chin, gently lifting her face up to his. "You're _not_ in Gaspard's debt. He owes you a proper dower at the very least; this was in your marriage contract with his brother, and he has no right to steal your jointure from you. You and I both know he owes you far more for his treatment of you, but since only God can collect on _that_ debt, Gaspard can at least be required to do the right thing by you financially." He glanced down at the sack of coin. "Look, if you wish to avoid having to touch coins that have passed through his hands, give this to Princess Rothana, and I'll have her exchange it for Gwyneddan currency of equal worth. That will save you a trip to the moneychangers."

She laughed softly. "I'm being silly again, aren't I?"

Duncan chuckled. "Yes."

"I suppose money is just money, no matter what its source. And it _is_ my right, whether I'm comfortable receiving it from him or not."

"It is."

She pondered the sack before her. "Could I donate it to the Schola?"

Duncan's eyebrows rose. "I suppose you could, though if you do, you're likely to find your next birthday or Twelfth Night present from me is an all expenses paid visit home to Llannedd. I'm not going to allow you to shortchange yourself, and your father's not growing any younger with each passing year."

Helena laughed. "I suppose I shall have to keep it then, or at least enough of it to allow for visits home, just so you're not tempted to misappropriate Schola funds."

"Don't forget you'll soon have a growing kitten to feed also, now that Pouncer's litter is nearly weaned. The Basilica's growing short of mice, now that we've got so many cats underfoot."

She shook her head with a wry smile. "Fritha doesn't eat _that_ much. I'm sure that sack weighs more than she does, even empty." She indicated Gaspard's payment. "Since you have a strongbox, would you hold that in trust for me until I can get one of my own to keep it in? Or better yet, if you would add it to the Schola accounts, I'd rather just draw my portion in the form of tallies. I'd feel more secure keeping track of it that way rather than having so much gold on hand, and most of the merchants I deal with in Rhemuth accept our tallies anyway."

"I'd be glad to." He lifted the sack of coin off his desk and bent to store it back in his strongbox. As Helena studied his bent neck, she frowned at the sight of a newly mended rip in his cassock. It was an odd place for a tear, not at the shoulder seam but slightly behind it, extending from the back of his neck diagonally downwards towards one shoulder blade. Something about the sight caused her gut to clench in instinctive reaction, and as Duncan straightened, she noticed something else she'd not noticed before. Something she might not have noticed even now, if the sunlight streaming through his window hadn't hit it just right, and if she'd not been looking in just the right place at that very moment, her eyes drawn there by the unusual tear in the fabric that led her eyes straight to it.

"Jesú!" Helena turned shocked eyes up at Duncan as her hand reached up towards the faint pink line barely visible across the skin of his neck just above his near shoulder. She realized what she was doing just before her fingers made contact with it, and she drew it sharply back as if from a hot iron. "That's a freshly Healed cut, isn't it?" Her fears returned, this time not for herself, but for him. "You fought him, didn't you?"

He didn't ask her to clarify who she meant, nor did he try to evade her question. He simply stood silently before her for a long moment, his eyes searching her face before quietly saying, "Yes. He tried to ambush me after I left the Jouvian Court. Don't worry, though; the cuts were shallow and, as you can see, easily enough Healed." A gleam of grim amusement lit his blue eyes. "I may have left Gaspard looking a little worse for wear, though not in such bad shape that he can't get together your next payment. He wasn't expecting a bishop to be in fighting trim, I don't think, and when it comes to dagger play, he'd make a great carpenter. He wields an edged weapon like a hammer."

She lifted her shaking hands to her mouth. "Please don't joke, Duncan! You've made an enemy of him, and he's a vengeful sort..."

"He won't be my first enemy, I assure you, nor do I expect he'll be my last, more's the pity."

She shook her head. "I'd never have told you any of it if I'd ever dreamed you'd be in harm's way..." Her tears began to flow unchecked.

Duncan gently clasped her shoulders, drawing her close. "Helena...heart...I'm all right. Believe me, I've had far worse wounds. And I _will_ be careful. I knew his measure before he ever made a move against me, even before I approached him in the Duke's Court. I was expecting him to try something of the sort. The altercation was quite brief; it ended almost as quickly as it began."

"But you shouldn't be taking chances for...my dower's not worth..."

" _You_ are worth going after it for."

She dropped her gaze from his, her cheeks growing warm. He released her, taking a step back, the sudden loss of his comforting embrace leaving her slightly dizzy. She wondered if he'd meant to address her by the endearment she'd thought she'd heard in his quietly spoken words, wondered also if she might be reading far too much into it. She'd heard him address Lady Sophie in such terms before, as "sweeting" or "heart," albeit only rarely, and had thought little of it knowing his feelings towards the younger magistra were far more paternal than anything else.

"You mustn't take such risks on my account," she whispered.

"Then fortunately I haven't any more travel plans to Joux in my near future," he replied, his voice light, though his expression remained serious. "I might have taken a little too much pleasure in wielding the swift sure hand of Justice, especially across the craven's fleeing hindquarters, though I'm having a bit of trouble summoning up the proper amount of penitence."

She gaped at him, unsure of whether to break into tears or an appalled laugh. The laugh won, emerging as a watery giggle.

They heard footfalls approaching in the corridor. Duncan smiled, drawing a clean handkerchief from his sleeve and handing it to her. "That's probably the Archbishop; he sent a message earlier saying he hoped to drop by for a brief visit sometime this afternoon. We can't have him thinking I'm in the habit of reducing my magistri to tears. Can you try to look as if I haven't spent the past half hour flogging you?"

She gave a more genuine laugh this time, dabbing at her tears and taking a deep breath to regain her composure. Archbishop Cardiel entered the room, giving Helena a surprised but courteous nod of greeting when he spotted her. "Sister Helena..." He broke off in confusion as he noted her red-rimmed eyes and the square of fabric quickly crumpled in one hand in an effort to hide it. "I'm sorry, is this a bad time?" He glanced at his auxiliary bishop. "I could come back later, if that would be more convenient."

"No!" she said hastily, glancing at Duncan. "Bishop Duncan just informed me of...of some wonderful news, that's all. I was just on my way out." She gave the Archbishop a reassuring smile, then looked back at Duncan. "Thank you, Father," she added softly.

"You're quite welcome," he replied equally quietly.

She left them together, her mind a whirlwind of thought as she made her way out of the Basilica and crossed the Schola's courtyard towards Abbot's Tower to return to her private chamber.

#

 _St. Hilary's Basilica, Abbot's Tower  
August 10, 1136_

Helena stood at the top of Abbot's Tower, staring blankly out at the fields beyond the Castle walls, over the rooftops of the small lodgings where some of the married Servants of Saint Camber who had moved to Rhemuth from the hidden village of St. Kyriell's now lived. Although it was summer, a mild breeze tugged at her robes at this height, but she was oblivious to the gentle currents, lost in her thoughts as she was. A tumult of emotions roiled inside her, and she needed time to herself to sort them.

Was she reading too much into the rector's kindness? Perhaps he'd have done the same for any of his magistrae deprived of a source of income that was her rightful due, though there was no way to know. Hers was hardly a commonplace situation, after all. But there'd been something in his eyes when he'd looked at her, something about the comforting way he'd drawn her close and his quiet voice had soothed her, that made her both hope and fear that mayhap there was something more behind his actions than mere priestly concern over the well-being of one of the many sheep in his pastoral care.

Then again, she mused, she could simply be as dim-witted as one of those proverbial sheep, reading far too much into Father Duncan's actions than he'd ever meant, seeing in them only what she wanted to see rather than what actually was. And what if he _did_ have feelings for her, feelings that mirrored what she had long since begun to feel for him? Even if that were the case, what future could there be between a man under holy vows and a woman too damaged by her experience with marriage to ever want to enter another one?

It wasn't marriage that she yearned for, though. It was relationship—the joining of hearts—that called to her more strongly than even the desire to join bodies, although _that_ thought brought a sudden warm flush to her cheeks, making her glad of the cooling air sweeping past her. She forced her thoughts quickly away from that subject; was it blasphemy, to think of a priest so? She was glad he was in holy orders; if he'd been free to wed, would her yearning for a closer relationship with him be able to override her fear of allowing any man that close to her again? Or would fear end up proving stronger than love? Helena didn't know. In truth, she was relieved not to be in a position where she might have to find out.

Still, it had felt heavenly to be held by him, however briefly and for whatever reason he might have done so. Was it sin to want the comfort and security of being held by a man she loved, even if she couldn't hope to have him fully? Was it sin to have such feelings in her heart for a man who had already given his life and his vows over to Another? She hoped not.

And if he _did_ return her feelings, would that jeopardize his vocation in any way? She prayed it would not. She knew the calling on his life was a genuine one, wanted to do nothing that would damage his ministry in any way or destroy his reputation as a man of honor and integrity. She didn't want to cause upheaval in his life; all she hoped for was to be allowed to share some small corner of it and the freedom to let him know somehow, someday, how very precious he'd become to her. Would God understand, even if no one else would? Even if others must never know?

She closed her eyes against a sudden flood of tears.


	14. Part II--Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

 _St. Hilary's-Within-The-Walls, Abbot's Tower  
August 20, 1136_

Helena carefully folded the last of her few spare gowns and placed it neatly in the small travel chest she planned to bring with her on her brief visit home to Llannedd. The next term at the Schola would be starting again soon, and most of the scholars who had left for the summer months would be returning to Rhemuth in just a few weeks, but the rector had assured her there would be time enough for her to make a brief visit to her father's home first, and if she didn't happen to make it back to Rhemuth before group classes resumed, the other magistri would divide her handful of advanced scholars between them until she returned. Princess Rothana had agreed to continue the individual tutelage that Helena had undertaken with the few students who had opted to remain at the Schola during the summer months, and thus it was Helena had found herself unexpectedly free to make the journey south.

She looked up from her packing as Sister Therese entered the small bedchamber they shared. The nun pulled a folded parchment from her pouch and handed it to her wordlessly.

Helena took the missive and began to read it, her brows flying upwards in silent surprise as she read the letter. "Oh dear!" She sank onto a nearby bench, looking up from the letter she held, her feelings quite mixed. "I suppose the news isn't entirely unexpected—poor Sir Gilrae's health has been failing for quite some time, even before his remarriage—but Ædwige is _so_ young to be a widow!"

"Yes, poor little duck!" Therese murmured sympathetically. "Not even turned seventeen yet, has she? And married barely over a six-month at that. But she'll be able to have her pick of a husband next time around, so that's something at least." Therese unfolded a fauldstool and sat down, fanning herself briskly.

Helena, noticing her flushed face, stood again to open the window shutters a little wider so that her roommate could enjoy the faint breeze that stirred outside the tower walls. "Kitchen duty again, Tessa, or did you just get winded coming up the stairs?" she asked, concerned for her friend.

"Neither," the infirmarian assured her. "I spent the cool of the morning gathering medicinals in the garden, then the rest of the morning boiling them in batches and straining the infusions in the courtyard." She gave a wry smile. "Of course, it's nearly noon now—hot work for a summer's day, but especially at noontide." The nun doffed veil and wimple and tossed both aside with a careless flourish. "The scholars are gathering in the refectory for the noon meal, and I came up to remind you it's time to eat. Brother Everard met me at the base of the stairs with Ædwige's letter, and I got distracted." She stripped off her outer robe with a quiet moan of satisfaction, pulling the perspiration-dampened linen of her undergown away from her skin to allow it to cool off more quickly. "You can go eat if you like; I'm too hot. I think I shall have a short nap instead while I may."

"Are you sure?" Helena said, walking over to lay a cool hand against Therese's skin. It was warm, but not dangerously so. "Shall I bring back something for you? A bit of small ale or watered wine, perhaps, or perhaps some bread and cheese?"

Therese chuckled. "Nay, I've had a small bite already, and I'm keeping my liquids up. Don't worry, I shan't require a Healer. I _am_ a healer too, you know, even though I'm a different sort than you Deryni lot. Go on, there's naught wrong with me that a little bit of rest and a few more years of perseverance won't cure."

"A few more years of perseverance?" Helena asked, baffled, tucking Ædwige's letter into her pouch.

Therese laughed. "Yes, just so. Just wait until _you're_ going through the change; you'll understand then. You'll be nice and toasty in the winter, but summers are the very devil."

#

 _St. Hilary's Refectory  
August 20, 1136_

Helena slipped into her place at the refectory High Table just as the Bishop stood to offer a brief prayer over their meal. " _Oremus._ _Benedic, Domine, nos et haec tua dona quae de tua largitate sumus sumpturi. Per Christum Dominum nostrum. Amen."_ He flashed a quick smile at the gathered scholars and magistri, adding an invitation to begin the noon meal. " _Edamus!_ " As he sat again, the rest of the community did likewise, setting into their meals. A young server—one of the summer students whose parents lived in Rhemuth year-round—brought a ewer to Helena so she could wash her hands with the rose-scented water he poured over them into a basin held by one of his friends. "Almost missed you, magistra," he whispered to her with a grin, "you slipped in so quiet-like!"

"I'm glad I made it in time," she whispered back, drying her hands on the towel the other server offered. The two lads continued on, and Helena turned to smile at Princess Rothana, who sat alongside her. Normally Lady Sophie occupied that spot when she took meals at the Schola, but she was currently on leave, spending most of the summer at Tre-Arilan. Beyond the princess sat the rector, and beyond him were the male magistri currently in residence. Bishop Duncan looked to be engaged in a conversation with Sir William the fighting master, whose animated gestures pantomimed some lesson he had evidently taught earlier in the day. Their voices were pitched too low for Helena to make out much of their conversation, but it was evidently amusing, for Sir William's anecdote was punctuated by occasional chuckles from the bishop and, at one point, with a burst of laughter.

Helena returned her attention to the platter of food set before her, thanking the server and indicating which of the various items offered upon it she wished to have served on her trencher. A second server offered watered wine, which she gratefully accepted.

"How is Therese?" Princess Rothana asked. "I saw her briefly earlier. She looked quite worn out by the day's heat, poor thing."

"She's having a nap," Helena informed her. She reached into her belt pouch, pulling out the letter it contained. "I don't suppose you've seen this yet, have you? I think it just arrived today."

Rothana unfolded the parchment, looking curious. "No, who's it from?" As her dark eyes perused the message, she looked startled, then saddened. "Oh, poor girl!" She glanced up at Helena in concern. "Her family lives close by her late husband's manor, do they not?"

"Fairly close, I believe. Why?"

The princess's expression cleared slightly. "Well, I'm sure they'll be on hand to lend their support and assistance as she sets Sir Gilrae's affairs in order. Not that I doubt that his steward and the rest of the household will do the same, but...well, she's not known her lord's retainers all that long yet, has she? Having her family on hand to see her through it all will be some consolation." Rothana bent her head to the letter again, reading to the end of it before looking back up. "She says once she has settled things there at Eddington Manor, she's hoping to return and finish her studies here." She smiled. "It will be good to have her back in the Schola, once she's ready to come back. I'm sure Briony Morgan will be thrilled, not to mention Sivorn's daughter Siany and Cass Draper; weren't the two older girls in the same classes with Ædwige?"

"Yes, they were." Helena considered the girls' interactions. "Briony will certainly be glad to see Ædwige return, and I think Siany was a friend of hers as well. I'm not so sure about Cass. Cass never did warm up to Ædwige for some reason, I don't think, though I don't know why. Not that Cass hasn't always been perfectly civil, but..." She shrugged. "At any rate, if Ædwige _does_ decide to return, they'll need to get used to working together, since they'll both be doing their group work with me. At their level of training, most of their instruction is done on an individual basis, but certainly not all of it.

"Well, I'm sure that they—and you—will manage to work it all out, should it come to that," Rothana reassured her. "In the meantime, how are the preparations for your journey coming along? You and Cass leave at first light tomorrow, don't you?"

The older magistra smiled. "Yes, as soon as Prince Nigel can get free to offer us his escort. The King is sending him on to look into some matter in Concaradine, and so he's offered to escort us that far, and my father's factor there has agreed to escort us the rest of the way home to Llannedd. Cass is excited; it will be her first trip beyond Rhemuth, much less outside of Gwynedd."

Rothana raised her eyebrows, her dark eyes reflecting quiet mirth. "An excited Cass must be a sight worth seeing."

Helena chuckled. "Well, I'll grant she's not as given to showing her feelings as most maidens her age, but she finished her packing three nights ago and has been offering to help me with mine ever since."

Rothana grinned. "How much are you planning on bringing with you?"

"Only the one travel chest. It's not like I've got the largest wardrobe in Rhemuth, and even if I had, I hardly expect to need much Court finery at home."

The princess's gaze fell back to the letter from Ædwige. "You know, Eddington Manor is not all that far off the route to Concaradine. Since you're traveling so light, perhaps an extra hamper with a kitten in it wouldn't go amiss, if you have time for a short side trip? I'm sure Ædwige could use the comfort of a friendly face right now—even if Cass _isn't_ among her favorites here at the Schola—and the kitten might help take her mind off some of her present burdens."

"I had already thought of that, even before I got her letter," Helena confirmed. "I had thought she might have need of a mouser, and now that her circumstances have altered, I was pondering dropping by her manor to check on her on the way back home, and perhaps again upon our return trip. I plan on asking Brother Everard tonight if he thinks the kittens are ready for new homes yet." A quick glance at the other end of the High Table confirmed he was not present at the noonday meal.

"Oh yes, he's already given the large ginger tom to Queen Araxie," Rothana informed her. "She's named him Atheling."

Helena laughed. "Well, that certainly suits him; he acts like a little prince."

"And your Fritha has already taken to sleeping with you at night, for all she enjoys spending her days curled up with her mother or exploring the strange new world just beyond the bishop's study. That leaves only three to find homes for, and Brother Everard seems to be doing his level best to ensure that I end up with one of those dratted little nuisances." Rothana toyed with her food, a slight smile playing at her lips.

"Go on, confess. You'd love to end up with one of those 'dratted little nuisances.'"

"I'll admit that smoky gray kitten you call Llwydion may be growing on me, despite my best efforts to avoid getting stuck with one." Her smile grew. "And Bishop Duncan appears to have been adopted by the gray tabby, whether he wants a kitten or not. I spotted him with her quite contentedly draped over his shoulder last night, purring loudly enough to be heard across the room as he tried to get some work done without disturbing her. And whenever Pouncer is on the hunt, that kitten follows the bishop everywhere, mewing for attention."

"I suppose that leaves the little black and white miscreant for Ædwige, then. He seems an adventurous sort; hopefully he won't mind a short journey."

#

 _St. Hilary's Scriptorium  
August 20, 1136_

After the midday meal, Sister Helena continued on to the scriptorium to collect freshly made copies of some of the more delicate manuscripts and fragments that had more recently come into the Royal Library's hands, so that the originals could be stored away and protected from further damage. The copies would serve for personal study and, once the next term began, for student use. Young Jemmy had been put to the task of gathering the copies for her, and now he stood before her with a stack of parchments collected in a small box. "Brother Everard said that as you're traveling, you'd need something to keep the documents safe and dry."

"Oh! I hadn't thought of bringing them with me, although now that I think on it..." Helena considered the journey ahead. She had originally planned on traveling by horse, though upon remembering that her young companion for the journey was city-born and of commoner stock, she realized that Cass had probably never learned how to ride, not having been born to a rank and station that would necessitate her owning a horse or, indeed, even be able to afford one. But since they would be traveling in the Prince's company for the first part of the journey, they would make the trip to the Free Port of Concaradine on the Royal Barge, and from there would likely sail on one of her father's ships along the coasts of Gwynedd and Llannedd until they reached Pwyllheli, unless her father's factor decided an overland route would be best and secured a coach for the ladies' use instead. "It _would_ be nice to have something to study along the way, I suppose," Helena admitted.

Jemmy flashed a quick grin at her. "Brother Everard thought you might come around to thinking so, once it entered your mind." He secured the latch on the coffer and handed it to her.

"Speaking of Brother Everard, is he available? I was thinking, since we'll be passing quite near to Ædwige's new home, I might stop in and bring her one of the kittens."

Jemmy's smile faded. "Aye, she'd likely appreciate a friendly face right now. She's mourning a loss...or had you heard yet?"

Helena looked startled. "I had, but only an hour ago. How did you happen to hear so soon?"

The lad shrugged. "Walls have ears, and Lady Briony was reading her letter aloud, so it didn't seem to be any great secret. Why, should I keep mum about it?"

She considered, shook her head. "No, I don't think it was meant to be secret, I was just surprised the word had got out so quickly. Sister Therese and I received a letter from Ædwige about it only this morning. I hadn't realized she'd sent others, but of course she'd have wanted to write to her friends here as well."

As if summoned by the mention of her name, the door to the scriptorium opened and Briony Morgan entered, glancing around the room. As her gaze fell upon Helena, she smiled. "I heard you're setting off for Llannedd in the morning, Magistra Helena. Are you excited to be going home?" With a quick glance at her fellow scholar, she added, "Jemmy, do you happen to know where Brother Everard might have left those charter copies he was working on for Queen Araxie?"

"Aye, I think I saw them in back. I'll go check for you." Jemmy sauntered off, though Helena was amused to see him linger in the doorway, casting a lingering glance at the pretty golden-haired maiden before disappearing through it entirely. She drew Briony's attention back to herself, answering her earlier question.

"I _am_ glad for the opportunity to return home again and to meet my father's new family. He's taken a new wife since my last visit, and I've not had the opportunity to meet her or her children yet, although he's told me a fair bit about them in his letters."

"Oh. Are you nervous?" The girl's gray-blue eyes gazed up at her in bright curiosity. "I can't bear to imagine what it would be like if, God forbid, anything were to happen to Mama and Papa were to bring home a new mother for us."

Helena chuckled. "Well, I _am_ a little nervous, though truth be told, I doubt I shall be thinking of Marared as a second mother anytime soon, for all that she's my father's wife now. For one thing, she's a full decade younger than I am." She smiled at the maiden's aghast look. "But she was a young widow in need of a husband's protection, and my father still hopes for sons to carry on his business after him—both of my own brothers died young, you see—so I'm happy enough that they've found each other. And I do hope Marared and I will end up getting on well with each other. She's made Father happy, and it would be a shame if we couldn't reach some level of accord."

Another thought occurred to Briony, making her frown thoughtfully. "Have you heard about Ædwige's news yet?"

"I have, and I'm told you received a letter from her also."

" _She_ shan't have to remarry, shall she? At least not unless she finds someone she actually wants to be married to?" Briony gazed at her worriedly, looking in need of reassurance.

"No, I'm quite certain Sir Gilrae has left her well provided for," Helena assured her, "so you needn't worry on that score. In fact, the letter I received says she is hoping to return to the Schola to finish her studies." She glanced towards the back of the room as Jemmy re-entered the scriptorium, holding a bound stack of documents carefully and handing them to the Queen's young attendant.

"Here you go, Lady Briony. I took the liberty of securing them so that none would blow away when you're making your way back to the Castle. Remember that time when one of the King's messages escaped Duncan Michael and went sailing off towards the fishpond, and he barely caught it back in time before it could get dunked or soiled?"

The girl laughed. "I heard about that. And how the King might never have even known about the mishap, if the little lad hadn't blurted out, 'I brought it back as fast as I could, Sire, and none the worse for wear for its little adventure!' to his father's great horror." She giggled. "Children!"

Helena was hard pressed not to laugh herself, given that the thirteen-year-old maiden was only a few years older than the 'little lad' whose antics she found so amusing. The older lad who stood before them grinned appreciatively, his warm brown eyes sweeping Briony's animated features. She eventually noticed his perusal, and a light flush colored her cheeks. She turned away from him slightly, though a smile still lurked at the corners of her lips. "Have a safe trip, Magistra," she said in farewell to Helena, dipping in a polite curtsey. "I'd better get back to the Queen's solar; she's expecting me."

"Would you like an escort back, Lady Briony?" Jemmy offered.

Her cheeks bloomed from pale pink to rose, nearly matching the satin bliaut she wore. "Thank you most kindly for the offer, Jemmy, but there's no need. Brother Everard might have need of you here, and I'd hate to inconvenience him. But thank you for finding the Queen's copies for me."

The young squire bowed. "It was my pleasure," he assured her.

The maiden left. Helena turned a speculative eye on her pupil, raising an eyebrow at him. Seeing her look, he laughed, a blush coming to his own face. "Don't worry, Magistra," he told her. "I know she's a Duke's daughter and well beyond my reach. But I reckon even the formidable Duke Alaric isn't going to have my head on a block for just _looking_ at his darling!" The squire gave his teacher an irrepressible smile. "You've got to admit, she's well worth looking at. If she's even more of a beauty by the time she's of marrying age, I might just give His Grace a whetstone myself. He'll need it to keep his swords sharpened."

Helena gave in to a reluctant laugh. "Just make sure looking is _all_ you do, young man!"

Jemmy grinned. "Don't worry. My knight would have my head even before His Grace did if I were to step out of line with any of the Court maidens."

"Hm. That might give me more assurance if I didn't know who your knight is," Helena teased, "but Lady Sophie has regaled me with enough tales of her wayward brother-in-law to make me somewhat dubious."

The young man laughed. "I never claimed Sir Sextus was a saint, especially before he wed! God would strike me dead on the spot if I told so bold a lie. But my lord's a stickler for proper courtesies towards noblewomen nonetheless." He sobered slightly. "And besides, if I hope to wed a knight's daughter someday, I can't be making a reputation for myself at Court as a wastrel, now can I? A maiden's father might overlook my common birth if I show myself worthy of the favor King Kelson has shown me in allowing me a Court education and a chance to make a good name for myself, but if I squander _that_ coin, I've naught else to offer for a good match, have I?"

The magistra nodded. "Wise lad, Jemmy Kitchener. Make your name one to live up to rather than one to live down." She tucked the coffer containing her documents under one arm. "I need to head on. I still need to track down Brother Everard, and I told the rector I'd bring him my class notes before I leave so that some other magister can begin next term's lessons with my advanced scholars if there's any delay in my return." She raised an eyebrow at him. "Which reminds me... _you_ weren't the mastermind of that plot in the boys' dormitorium to practice scrying skills on the girls as they were preparing for bed during the last week of spring term, were you? I know it has to be someone who was paying close attention in his scrying classes, and as I recall, you excelled in those skills."

He gaped at her, then chortled. "No, magistra. I _do_ know who came up with that idea, but I'm sworn to secrecy. And anyway, Cass put those anti-scrying measures you taught us to good use and nearly caught the lad at his game, and he's afraid to try it again for fear he'll be found out and sent to Bishop Duncan's study to be dealt with most severely. How did you find out about that?"

"As you said earlier, Jemmy, walls have ears."

#

 _St. Hilary's Basilica, Duncan's study  
August 20, 1136_

Helena stopped short in the open doorway to the rector's study. He sat at his writing table, the gray tabby kitten in his lap, restraining her with one hand as he attempted to jot down a quick note with the other. The kitten strained to swipe at Duncan's quill, but he had carefully set his parchment just out of her reach. Finishing his note, he set the quill down and reached for the caster, sprinkling fine sand upon the wet ink to absorb the excess before returning the caster to its place and turning his full attention to the creature in his lap. He lifted the errant beast into the air, turning her to face him, and looked her in the eyes.

"You, little lady, are a right pest," he told the kitten firmly. The kitten, unfazed by his censure, placed a tiny paw against his chin and purred loudly. With a chuckle, he drew the little mischief-maker to himself, cradling her against his chest one-handed while he shook the excess sand off the document he'd just written. The kitten's purr grew louder.

Helena laughed, drawing Duncan's attention. "Well, look at you," she joked, "caught in a _cwtch_ with a beautiful young lady, and you a reputable bishop and all! Whatever would the Archbishop say?"

"He'd congratulate me on my good fortune, not to mention my excellent taste in females, I imagine," he joked back, blue eyes lighting up with laughter. "I'm sure Thomas is wise enough to understand that every man, even one in holy orders, needs a cuddle now and again, and at least this is a legitimate outlet for a priest's affections." With a sheepish grin, he set the kitten back down on the floor, although the effort proved futile, as within seconds she began to climb up his cassock. He leaned down to extricate her sharp claws from the fabric before she could damage it, rising to cross the room and deposit the kitten with her remaining siblings behind a waist-high barricade blocking off one corner of the study. She stalked to the furthest end of the enclosure, looking sulky and pointedly ignoring him. Pouncer reappeared at that moment, leaping onto a nearby chair and from there into the enclosure with her remaining kittens. It was evident that someone had created the barrier to keep overly rambunctious kittens within while allowing their mother the freedom to escape and return at will.

"Clever," Helena said, indicating the kitten pen. "I imagine that must be quite the sanity saver at times."

"You can't begin to imagine. I was on the verge of asking Sister Cecile if the nursery could take the kittens in during the day so I could get some work done around here, when Brother Everard came up with this solution."

"Well, I'm about to take another one of the furry little imps off your hands, if there are any left to be claimed, so hopefully that will offer some relief. Princess Rothana didn't think the little black and white kitten had been adopted yet. Has he been? If not, I'd like to bring him to Ædwige, if I may." Helena offered Duncan the letter that Sister Therese had passed on to her earlier that morning. "Have you read this yet?"

Duncan scanned the missive, nodding. "I hadn't seen the actual letter, but Everard stopped by earlier to give me the gist. You're thinking of stopping by Eddington Manor on your way home?" He looked up, handing the letter back to her.

"Yes. And possibly on the way back to Rhemuth as well, just to see how she's faring before we return for the start of term." Helena glanced at the makeshift kitten pen. "Do you think Brother Everard would have time to fashion some sort of _cwtch_ for the kitten before morning? If not, I have a hamper that might serve, but I'm not sure how securely it will hold an active little cat."

The rector's eyes crinkled in baffled amusement. "You want Everard to devise some sort of a display of affection for the little beast? Or have I mistranslated your Llanneddan entirely?"

She laughed. "No, not entirely. I suppose I should have just said some sort of snug carrier. A _cwtch_ most literally means a 'safe place,' you see, though you're quite right, it also means an affectionate hug or a cuddle. Or for that matter, a small cupboard or cabinet where one keeps things secure, or any enclosed area that's snug and comfortable. So in Llannedd, if a mother were to tell her child, 'Go fetch my book from the _cwtch_ in my _cwtch_ , and then we'll have us a nice little _cwtch_ and read for a bit,' he'd understand that to mean, 'Go fetch my book from that small cabinet in my box bed, and then we'll have us a nice little cuddle and read together.'"

Duncan burst out laughing. "I'd best avoid visiting Llannedd altogether, then!" he teased. "I'm not sure I could handle being a priest there with all that _cwtching_ going on around me."

She grinned, her cheeks turning pink. "Well, if you're going to take it _that_ way, I'm definitely having second thoughts about asking Brother Everard for a _cwtch._ God only knows how _he'll_ respond!"

"There's no need," he assured her. "Wait here, I'll be right back." He left the room briefly, returning with a small wooden box with a wicker lid secured with a decorative but stout latch. The box possessed a handle on either side for ease of carrying.

"If we line this with soft fabric or a cushion, do you think it will serve? If you put it on its side once you get on board the Royal Barge, the kitten can look out at the world through the lid, and the holes in it will let plenty of air in while keeping him from getting out. He'll have to be let out on occasion to use the sandbox and get a bit of exercise, but I'm sure I can contrive some sort of makeshift harness and leash for him so he can't wander off. I doubt Nigel will be too happy if he's delayed in getting to Concaradine because you're fishing a kitten out of the Eirian or trying to fetch it out of a tree."

"Oh dear, I hadn't thought of that!"

"I noticed Master Caradoc the armorer tossing out some scrap pieces of leather earlier this morning," Duncan told her. "I doubt it's been carted off yet. I'll sketch up what I have in mind and see if he'd mind me taking a few bits off his hands and using a few strips of that to fashion a harness that will fit. Or _he_ might even want to try his hand at it; it's just the sort of side project that would strike his fancy, I think. You'll need to leave the kitten here a bit longer, of course, since we'll need him to get the proper measurements for it, but it should only take a few minutes to cut the straps, and probably only three or four brass rivets to assemble the harness at most, I think." He stared off for a moment, visualizing the project in his head, then added, "I should be able to get to it after Vespers. Shall I drop harness, cat and _cwtch_ off with you once we're done?"

She smiled. "That would be lovely, if you're certain you can spare the time."

He smiled back. "I can. I'd enjoy working on it, actually. It's been a long while since I had to maintain my own armor straps, and while I have others to do that now if need be, I'd hate for those old skills to get _too_ rusty."


	15. Part II--Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

 _Eddington Manor, a short distance from Concaradine  
August 22, 1136_

Lady Ædwige gave a glad cry as she recognized Sister Helena's approaching form, running to meet her. A groom helped the magistra and her companion dismount, and Helena swept the black-swathed girl into a motherly embrace.

"Oh, Magistra Helena, I'm _so_ glad you were able to come!" After a long moment, the younger woman extricated herself from the embrace, stepping back to greet her former classmate with a somewhat more distant smile, although it was evident that her joy at seeing her former teacher again overrode much of the displeasure she might have felt at seeing Helena's traveling companion. She gave the other girl a coolly polite nod. "And a good morning to you as well, Cass. I trust your first journey beyond Rhemuth wasn't too arduous?"

"Not at all," the draper's daughter assured the young noblewoman. "It's rather difficult to overtax oneself on a barge, unless you're one of the watermen, of course. I can't say I fancy coach travel as much, though."

"In this heat, I daresay a coach would be stifling," Ædwige agreed. " _I'd_ have gone on horseback the short distance from Concaradine, though I suppose if _you've_ never sat a horse, a coach would be preferable despite the summer heat. You've never learned how to ride, have you, Cass?"

"Not yet," Cass replied evenly. "Not too many opportunities for a draper's daughter to learn such a skill. I may look into it someday, though, if I have reason to think it might prove useful. It can't be _too_ hard, after all, if _you've_ managed it neatly."

"Look, Ædwige, I've brought you something," Helena said quickly to forestall an argument between the two maidens. She lifted the wicker-lidded box out of the coach. "Open it just a crack at first and have a peek inside." Privately to Cass, she added via Mind-Speech, _Dear, don't be so risible! I'm sure Ædwige didn't mean anything slighting by her comment. She's not quite herself right now, you know._

 _I'm equally sure she did mean it, Magistra Helena,_ Cass disagreed, _and while I'll allow she's probably under a great strain these days with her husband's recent death, she's just as much herself as she ever was, sad to say. But I promise I shan't let her goad me. I'm sorry I lost my temper. I_ did _try to warn you that Ædwige and I don't get on very well._

 _Child, that's hardly Rhemuth's greatest secret._

Ædwige peered into the small box her former magistra set before her, her sky blue eyes going wide as she heard a plaintive mew come from within. She laughed, opening the lid enough to reach inside and draw forth a black and white ball of fur. "You've brought me a kitten!" Delighted eyes turned up to smile at Helena. "Oh, he's charming! Or is it a she?" She stroked the tiny cat, giggling as it began to sniff and lick at her fingers.

"He's male, and I've been calling him 'Boots' for lack of a better name. You see how he's got little white boots on all four paws? But of course you can rename him whatever you wish. He'll hardly mind, as long as he knows what name to answer to when you've a treat for him."

Eddington's young widow laughed. "He has boots and a bib as well, though I suppose 'Boots' makes for a more dignified name for a cat than 'Bib' or 'Bibby.'" She cradled the kitten to her chest. "Well, let's get you two settled in, shall we, and then I'll see what sort of victuals I can conjure up for us. My man Henry can bring your travel chest up after he sees to your horses and driver." She glanced at Cass. "Have you one to bring up as well?"

Cass shook her head, indicating the small bundle she carried. "Just my travel sack. I can manage without assistance."

Lady Ædwige glanced briefly at the bundle. "I daresay it's not too heavy," she agreed, her smile a shade too sweet.

#

The Lady of Eddington escorted her two guests to the bedchamber she'd had made ready for them as soon as Prince Nigel's messenger had conveyed word to her that Sister Helena would be in the area and that she and Cass hoped to stop by for a brief visit before continuing their journey to Llannedd. She opened the chamber door before them and stepped back, allowing her visitors to enter first.

A small but cozily appointed bedchamber awaited their view. Helena stepped through the doorway, stripping off veil and wimple in quiet relief. Ædwige giggled, following suit, discarding her black veils and setting them to one side as she drew out the long hairpins securing the gold tresses braided and loosely coiled at the nape of her neck. "I know, veils are awful in the summer, aren't they? And to think of how I used to look forward to dressing like a married lady rather than going bareheaded like a young girl."

Cass raised a dark brow at her. "I thought you weren't exactly looking forward to marriage," she asked, looking skeptical. "You certainly seemed like a lamb being led to the slaughter about it when you left Rhemuth at the start of the new year."

 _Cass!_ Helena reproved her student silently. _That's hardly tactful under the circumstances. Remember, she could well have come around to enjoying her married state in the past few months with Sir Gilrae."_

Ædwige's gaze met Cass's, her expression cool. "I never said it was the _marriage_ I looked forward to, but you must admit, there are more advantages in being the lady of a manor than in being a mere maid, and _that_ much any woman might well look forward to. And some veil styles are quite lovely, even if they _are_ abominably hot in August."

"I suppose," Cass conceded, "though I'm glad enough to be able to do without one at present. Jesú, it _is_ hot, isn't it? I can hardly wait for autumn to get here." She set her bundle down on top of a nearby chest, looking around at her surroundings. "This is a beautifully appointed chamber. Did you furnish it yourself?"

The young hostess looked mildly surprised at Cass's gracious words. "Well...no, actually, I believe my lord husband's first wife did. Though I quite like it also. I really haven't had time to put my own stamp on the place yet." She sighed. "I suppose I'll get around to it eventually, but I'd really rather just put it all behind me at present and return to the Schola as soon as I'm able. Perhaps once I'm done with my studies, I'll have time to see to it."

"But..." Cass looked slightly confused. "Won't your husband's heir be taking over the manor now, or does he have other lands where he prefers to reside?"

Helena turned her attention to the young widow, who blushed slightly. "I'm with child. So the question of inheritance is far from settled yet, you see. If my child lives, he'll be the future Lord Eddington."

"Oh, my dear! Such happy news! I didn't realize." Helena beamed at her former pupil. "How far along are you?"

Ædwige shrugged, looking self-conscious. "I don't know exactly. I can feel the baby growing inside me, and I _think_ he's a boy, but how early on can you sense that sort of thing?"

"I'm really not sure." Helena frowned thoughtfully. "Sister Therese could probably tell you when you're due. I imagine you haven't seen a midwife yet, if you don't know for certain already."

The young widow shook her head. "I informed Lord Robert's wife of my condition, of course—Lord Robert stood to be my husband's heir if he had died without issue—but anything can happen, especially in the early months." She turned anxious eyes to her former teacher. "I do wish I were in Rhemuth already, where I could have access to the best Healers and midwives. Fortunately Lady Miranda—that's Lord Robert's lady—has offered to introduce me to her midwife. I'm just not sure..." She bit her lip, looking worried. "I'm sure she means well, it's just...her husband _does_ stand to inherit Eddington Manor if anything goes wrong with the birth..."

"Oh, child, surely you're not worried she'd wish harm to you or the babe?" Helena asked, realization beginning to dawn. "Is that what you fear? Has she done or said aught to make you believe she'd willfully give you over into the wrong hands?"

Ædwige shrugged again, looking forlorn. "Oh, I'm sure it's just some silly overwrought fancy! It's just..." Tears sprang to her eyes. "I know I've been here for half of a year already, but I still hardly know anyone outside my own household, and it just doesn't feel like _home_ yet."

Helena drew the girl into her arms. "Well, there's a solution for that. Once you've got matters settled enough here to leave in your steward's charge, come back home to the Schola. As Bishop Duncan told you back at Christmastide, he'll gladly make a place for you, even if you have to start the new term a little bit late."

#

The lady of the manor had a light repast brought up to the guest chamber. Once everyone had eaten and felt refreshed, they re-donned their headgear in preparation for going back outside. "I'll give you a tour of the grounds, such as they are," Ædwige said. "The manor isn't very large, but _I_ think it's rather picturesque. And I have a few matters of business I need to tend to with our...with _my_ steward that I suppose really shouldn't be put off any longer—some matter to do with repairs needing done on the stonework in the Eddington family crypt—but I can see to all that while you wander, if you'd like, or if the day grows too hot you are welcome to return to the manor without me. Or you can come with me, if you like, though I'm not sure a crypt is the most inviting place to sit in wait for my business to be ended." She wrinkled her pert nose, grimacing slightly. "I do hope Gilrae's not too far gone yet in this heat," she mused. "Perhaps I can convince Martin to wait until the cool of the evening before he drags me back out there to inspect the stonework."

Cass raised a dark brow slightly, but said nothing in reply to her former classmate's offhanded comment regarding her late husband's undoubtedly decomposing corpse. Helena pushed her plate away, the last vestiges of her earlier appetite departing altogether.

Ædwige scooped up the exploring kitten to bring along with them as they toured the grounds. The two visitors set forth along with the young widow, following Ædwige's lead downstairs and through the Hall into the courtyard beyond. There, their hostess proudly showed off her small yet well-tended garden. "It was ill-tended when I first arrived here," she told them, "and of course most of the growth had died off during the winter cold, but as soon as the ground thawed I began ordering and planting fresh herbs to restock it. Sister Therese would be proud; I attended to her lessons well, don't you think?"

Helena surveyed the beds, pleased by their layout, which was both practical and appealing to the eye, as well as by the herbs Ædwige had selected to plant in them. 'Yes, it looks like you've got all of the basics here, or at least those that will grow and thrive in this climate. Sister Therese would be quite proud indeed."

"That's what I was trying for, having as many of the basics as I could stuff into such a small plot without it ending up looking like a disorderly hodge-podge," Ædwige noted. "Too bad it's likely to grow over with weeds again as soon as I'm gone. Gilrae had a gardener—some cotter from the village below—but the woman was hopeless, and I've yet to find another one to take charge of the garden while I'm away at Schola. I suppose I could bring the matter up to Martin today while we're going over the day's business." She giggled as she retrieved little Boots from the wallow he was making under a clump of catnip and pointed to the stables, where newly cut stone at one end of the building proclaimed its recent addition. "I had Gilrae add on to the stables as well. Papa gave me a palfrey for my wedding present, but there was no decent stall to keep her in, so he had that section added on just for my Celestia." She beamed. "I can show her to you if you'd like...unless Cass is afraid of horses?"

Cass snorted. "Not particularly. I'm sure your Celestia is quite lovely. She'd hardly be otherwise, if your dear Papa gave her to you for a wedding gift."

Ædwige glanced at her suspiciously as if wondering whether there were some hidden barb in Cass's words, but at Cass's bland expression she shrugged, deciding to take the other girl's words at face value. "Oh, she is. She's a beautiful dappled gray, and cost Papa a great deal. I just couldn't stick her in some stall hardly fit for use as a tool shed! Fortunately Gilrae was sensible enough to understand and do something about it."

 _He was sensible enough to grasp that Ædwige would pitch holy hell if she didn't get her way_ , Cass observed sourly, if silently, to Helena. _Spoiled rich bitch._

Helena gave the draper's daughter a mildly reproving glance. _Ædwige is rather spoiled, I'll grant, but she's the only child of doting parents. I'm sure she'll outgrow it in good time._

 _I was an only child also,_ Cass grumbled via Mind-Speech. _But if I'd put on airs like Ædwige does, my Ma would have tanned my hide! Not that I had much to put on airs about, but still, you'd think Ædwige's family would have realized they'd have to send her out into the world sometime, and that not everyone is going to treat her like she's some pampered little princess. Even the King's daughters aren't allowed to act so uppity, nor is Briony Morgan, for all she's a Duke's daughter!_

#

While Ædwige conducted her business with her steward, Sister Helena and Cass continued to wander the grounds of Eddington Manor. Their path took them past a small grotto built just outside the entrance of the family mausoleum. The magistra and scholar stopped there briefly to visit the grotto's shrine, offering up their prayers for the departed soul of Sir Gilrae of Eddington. Nearby, they heard voices—one a low masculine rumble, the other slightly raised. They recognized the second voice as Ædwige's, although both were just beyond the range within which a bystander might easily make out their conversation.

They continued on, crossing over to the stables which, to Helena's eyes, looked small and no fancier than need be for their intended purpose but quite well-maintained and serviceable nonetheless, their hostess's complaints notwithstanding.

Cass's ice blue eyes flitted from sight to sight, drinking in their surroundings. "Did you grow up on a manor like this?" she asked Helena.

"Oh, hardly," the magistra said with a smile. "No, I'm mostly city bred, like yourself. I spent my younger years in Pwyllheli for the most part, although my father has a house a day's ride outside the city as well for those times when he needed a quiet retreat from his business ventures and the clamor and bustle of life in the capital. And as a merchant in the shipping trade, he sometimes kept various rooms in other port cities as well, but we rarely accompanied him on his travels. Only on occasion, for brief visits to Concaradine or Desse perhaps, and of course there was my trip to Joux once I was ready to leave home and enter my great-aunt's household to finish my Deryni education."

Cass looked surprised. "I thought you studied at the Schola before you started teaching there?"

"Oh, I did. But only some advanced studies; I'd already been taught the basics years earlier."

The maiden looked thoughtful. "So why Joux? Couldn't your father find someone closer to home to teach you?"

Helena smiled. "Oh, I suppose he could have; Deryni aren't plentiful in Llannedd, but they can be found, if one looks in the right places. My mother was Jouvian, though, and she wished me to spend some time in the land of her birth, so I could get to know her side of the family. "

The intent ice-blue eyes turned to face her. "Were you close, you and your mother?"

"Very. And I'm quite close to my father as well."

A slight shadow crossed the girl's face. "My mother's a right queer sort; I can't say I really know what that's like, growing up feeling close to her, although I suppose she cares for me well enough in her own way, as I care for her. And our relationship has improved somewhat in recent years. As for my father...well, he died a while back." Her expression grew shuttered, not inviting any questions, so Helena didn't ask any. She simply nodded in acceptance of the confidence her pupil had shared with her. Coming from the normally quite reserved Cass Draper, it was a rare offering.

"My mother died only a few years after I married," Helena said instead, "and I grew up with two brothers as well, though neither one survived to full adulthood. My father has since remarried, so it's his new wife and her children you'll be meeting when we get to Plasnywedd, my family's home in Llannedd. I've not met them yet either. She was formerly married to my father's business partner, but he died a couple of years back, leaving her a widow with two young children to raise alone, so my father offered for her. He's hoping for more sons to pass his mercantile interests on to someday, and there's also Marared's little lad to be raised in the trade as well."

"And a step-daughter to dower also, I assume, since you say your father's new wife brought two children into the marriage with her," Cass observed. "Or did her own father leave her provided for?"

"I'm not sure," Helena said. "I believe he left some sort of provision for his widow and both of his children, although of course if it was lacking in any way, my father will see to their needs as he's able." She smiled. "He's prosperous enough not to have any cause for worries over taking on an extra mouth or two."

Cass was silent for a long moment. "He sounds like a good man, then," she finally observed.

"I'd like to think so." Helena's smile turned into a grin. "Then again, I might be just a bit biased. He _is_ my father, after all."

The girl shrugged. "Most any man can breed, magistra. There's nothing about getting a child that makes a man any better than any other, though for your sake, I'm glad _yours_ is a good sort." She was silent a few moments longer, then added. "I had a good stepfather as well. Or at least he was as decent a sort as he knew how to be, and he kept a roof over my head and Ma's and taught me right from wrong. I miss him."

Helena absorbed this revelation, feeling honored by the level of trust it indicated, coming from the extremely private Cass Draper. "Your stepfather died during the fever-flux epidemic a few years back, did he not?"

"Yes, magistra."

Helena ventured cautiously. "Do you remember your real father?"

Cass's marginal openness towards the subject swiftly slammed shut. "No, my lady." Another momentary pause, followed by a quiet, "He's dead."

The magistra glanced at her pupil, but Cass's grim expression didn't invite further questions.

#

Ædwige was bored. She dearly wished Martin would stop nattering on about repairs and stonecutters and all that rot so she could get back to her guests. It was a delight to see Sister Helena again; she hadn't expected to see her favorite magistra again so soon. It was a pity she'd brought that draper's upstart bastard with her, but then again, there were probably few female students left at the Schola during the summer months who would be free to provide the magistra with a suitable escort during her journey back to Llannedd. Ædwige supposed Cass had nothing better to do, after all, unless she wanted to go back to selling woolen goods in her mother's shop for a few months while waiting for classes to resume, so she might as well make herself useful to Sister Helena in the meantime.

She nodded at something Martin said about replacing the mortar, giving her consent to his suggestion—whatever it had been—before continuing her musings. Perhaps she ought to have paid him more mind; it was clear even to her inexpert eyes that the Eddington family crypt was in a dire state of disrepair. Even if that hadn't been clearly visible, she could hardly fail to note the faint odor of decay in the air, despite the closed door which should have sealed off the entombed bodies within altogether. She hated to spare the expense for fixing it back up—it was only some musty old tomb, after all, and _she_ hardly planned to be buried in it, not to mention there were _far_ more exciting things she might be spending all that money on!—but if she didn't, Gilrae's remaining relatives would probably howl at her until she rectified the matter, so she might as well get it out of the way now so they'd leave her in peace. She hardly envied whatever workmen Martin might procure to do the repairs, but thank Jesú she'd hopefully be long gone by the time they got around to doing the work. She had already started closing off several rooms in the manor in preparation for her departure, and had begun packing her personal belongings. If only Magistra Helena were heading back to Rhemuth right now rather than away from there to Llannedd, she'd have asked to join her company for a safe escort back to the Schola. Oh well, all in due time. Now that she had most of her late husband's immediate affairs sorted, and Martin to handle the rest, she had little reason to continue sticking around here much longer. Not when there were her studies to return to. And return she would, as soon as Bishop Duncan would allow. This time, no one would be able to force her to leave. She was mistress of her own household now and under no man's command. Of all her solaces right now, that was her greatest. Someday she looked forward to returning to Eddington Manor and making it completely her own, but at the moment it was just another unwelcome encumbrance preventing her from returning to her training as quickly as she'd like.

Not that she enjoyed scholarship for its own sake, of course. Ædwige had to admit she wasn't really the bookish sort. But oh, the joys of learning how to utilize her powers, of seeing all she was truly capable of once she learned how to harness the gifts that she'd been born with and put them to good use! She was tired of being powerless, a pawn in her father's desire for upward mobility, bartered off into a marriage she never wanted in order to gain her family some nebulous advantage or another. She'd had hopes of marrying far better than Sir Gilrae of Eddington.

Ah well. At least the nasty old coot had left her reasonably well off. She'd have enough dower to secure a better marriage for herself the next time around, unless her next suitor demanded a ridiculously high dowry. Her marriage contract with Gilrae had seen to that. And, of course, he'd left her well provided for in a different way as well. Not in a way she'd hoped for originally, but now that she had a little time to get used to the idea, she realized that serving as an heir's regent would provide even more security than she would have had if she'd simply been left as a childless widow. Her late husband's brother was under no legal obligation to provide her with a home, after all, even if it was generally considered the moral thing to do. He could have sent her packing back to her father's house instead, had he inherited the manor outright, and Ædwige was still too miffed with Papa to consider returning _there_.

Her darling new kitten stumbled over a patch of uneven ground nearby, stumbling and nearly falling face-first into the dirt. The young widow laughed, taking a few steps away from her steward to retrieve the feline. The man's voice trailed away, and as she turned her head to look at him again, he looked slightly annoyed.

"Oh, do go on, Martin, I'm listening." Ædwige cradled the soft creature against her chest and forced herself to pay heed once more to the man's endless prattle.


	16. Part II--Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

 _En route to Pwyllheli, Llannedd  
August 26, 1136_

Helena pointed out the rooftops of her childhood home to her traveling companion, who studied the still-distant city with only vague interest. They had made the final leg of the journey on one of Helena's father's ships, in the company of his factor in Concaradine, Master Einion ap Gwystl. Cass was not taking to ship travel as hardily as she'd have liked; while she had handled the smoother waters of the Eirian well enough when they'd set forth from Concaradine, the swells had grown as the river emptied into the Atalantic Ocean, and her stomach had taken to lurching with every rise and fall of the waves that conveyed their ship closer to the magistra's home port. But at least she'd managed to keep her lunch inside her. Out here on the deck, with the fresh sea breezes to cool her, she felt better than in the confined space of the captain's cabin where she and Helena had broken their fast that morning.

Captain Cadogan cast a sympathetic eye at the girl. "Yer first ship journey, is it? Well, we'll have ye on solid ground soon enough." His voice was gruff but kind. "I've a son about yer age. The first time he tried sea travel, he didn't take to it near as well as ye, but now look at him." He glanced up at a young man climbing agilely in the ship's rigging. The Captain watched him for a moment before grinning at Cass. "Of course, ye'd be no use as a sailor clad in skirts like that," he said, indicating her Scholar robes with a sweep of his hand, "so ye needn't fret about bein' put to work on th' crew just yet."

Cass managed a faint smile at his jest. "How much longer will it be before we arrive in port?" she asked.

"Well, given the favorable winds and the tide going in rather than out, I'd say we should be docked in just under an hour," the captain assured her. "Barring anything unforeseen, of course."

Master Einion chuckled. "Don't worry, young mistress, we'll get you on dry land soon enough."

Helena turned away from the sight of the Llanneddan coastline to study her traveling companion's face. "Are you feeling any better yet, dear? I wish I'd thought to bring along some of Sister Therese's boiled ginger syrup for you. I almost never have trouble with the sea sickness myself unless the swells are especially high, so it simply never occurred to me to prepare some for the trip. I'm sorry. I'll be sure to make up a batch for you before our return trip to Rhemuth."

Cass stared down at the moving water below them. "You mean it can get _worse_ than this?"

Captain Cadogan chortled as Master Einion met Helena's startled look with a wry grin. "Aye, this is nothing, little mistress," the Captain replied, looking vastly amused. "Just the normal choppiness for this part of the sea, with the flow of the Eirian meeting the Atalantic ocean currents that follow this part of the coastline. Ye've not been caught out in a proper storm yet, lass, or ye'd know these little waves are naught to fret over."

"Oh." Cass pondered that thought. "I hope never to see a proper storm as long as I live, then, at least not from _this_ side of the coastline!" she told him, her voice fervent.

Master Einion chuckled. "Well, it's highly unlikely you'll need to worry about one brewing between now and the time we reach port, at any rate," he assured her. "Not with this clear sky."

#

 _Penardd Quay, Pwyllheli  
August 26, 1136_

Helena beamed as her father crossed the distance between them with arms outstretched to gather his daughter in a warm embrace. Her eyes discreetly studied him as he drew close, noting the small changes in his appearance since her last visit to her native shore. His formerly dark auburn hair had mellowed to a paler ginger over the years, threaded profusely with silver-gilt strands as age had begun to steal the vibrant hue from his curling locks. Now it had lost all but the faintest vestiges of pale golden-red, though his neatly cropped mustache and beard still retained some reminders of the fierier shades of his youth. His eyes remained the same vivid shade of amber they'd always been, flecked with pale green, and they sparkled with the same delight she'd seen in their depths when they'd last met. He seemed in better health than he'd been at their last meeting, and a trifle stockier, with a slight bit more girth around his waist, although not quite to the point of running to fat. Evidently his new marriage was agreeing with him.

"My darling girl!" he exclaimed as he drew her close in a swift hug. He drew back a moment later, studying her face as intently as she'd just studied his. "How have you been, _bach_? You look to be in good health, and unless I miss my guess, in better spirits than the last time we saw each other. Are you enjoying your new life, then?"

The magistra's lips quirked at her father's endearment. At age six-and-thirty, she was hardly the small child anymore that the Llanneddan term implied, but she supposed in her father's eyes, she would always be his _merch fach_ , his little girl. "I am well, Da." She turned to face Cass, drawing the girl forward. "Da, this is Cass Draper, one of my students at the Schola. Cass, I'd like to introduce you to my father, Master Ednyved ap Iorwerth."

The Llanneddan merchant bowed graciously over the young scholar's hand, his eyes twinkling at her as his lips moved in a brief air kiss above it. "A draper's daughter, are you now? And what did you think of my shipment, or did you venture below deck during your passage down from Concaradine?"

"I avoided going below as much as possible, Master Ednyved, though I did catch a glimpse of a selection of fine woolens Master Einion brought up to show Magistra Helena. My Ma would be quite envious indeed," Cass assured him.

"Da, I didn't bring Cass along so you could bore her with business matters," Helena teased.

"Did you not? Ah, then I shall have to find some other topic of conversation to bore her with," he joked back, favoring the girl with a wink and a grin that made her laugh despite her usual wary reserve. Turning back to his daughter, he added, "I imagine you're both a bit weary from journeying and would prefer to go straight back to the house rather than touring the sights right off, aye?" At her confirming nod, he added, "Einion's had your trunk and Mistress Cass's bag sent on ahead to our coachman." Glancing back at Cass, he added, "I wasn't sure if you'd feel up to a five mile walk directly upon finding your land legs again, so I've secured a coach to bring us to Plasnewydd—that's my home—and it should be along now in a minute."

"Thank you, Master Ednyved." Cass gave her magistra a sidelong look, a slightly puzzled look in her eyes despite her efforts to mask her confusion.

Helena laughed. "It should be here shortly," she explained. "Da, Cass isn't used to Llanneddan turns of phrase. In Gwynnedd, something can't happen both 'now' and 'in a minute.'"

"Is that so?" The merchant grinned, sweeping an apologetic bow at his young guest. "I shall do my utmost to be less inexplicable, then. Assuming I remember, of course."

 _#_

 _Plasnewydd  
August 26_

The coach stopped in front of a large building a short distance outside of the city's center. To Cass's mind, the merchant's home looked more palatial than house-like. She'd been expecting an apartment tucked away above his shop, like the home where she'd spent her childhood years, but this sprawling edifice seemed more like a wealthy man's mansion. She snorted back a dry laugh at herself and her expectations. Of course that's what it was! All the signs had been there earlier, had she only bothered to put them together—she'd known that Sister Helena's mother was noble-born, that her father owned several ships and had business ventures in ports as far away as Bremagne and the Forcinn States, and that he'd managed to provide a good enough dowry for his daughter to attract a husband for her from the nobility in her mother's homeland. None of those things spoke to humble circumstances such as hers, had Cass simply thought the matter through, despite the fact that both families were merchant-born.

The man seemed a decent and down-to-earth enough sort, though, not simply on his charming surface, but in that way that Cass could only describe as pure gut feeling. And he _was_ Magistra Helena's father, for whatever that was worth. Cass refused to feel intimidated.

The coachman opened the door, offering his hand to help her out of the enclosed space. Cass stepped down, accepting her bag from him so he could deal with the magistra's heavier travel chest, and followed him into the building's entryway.

#

Master Ednyved laid a restraining hand on his daughter's arm just before they reached the house, his expression growing serious for once. "Elen..." To his daughter's eye, he looked oddly nervous. "I meant to tell you earlier, but I wasn't sure how to work up to it, nor did I think that it was the sort of thing I ought to inform you about in a letter rather than face to face. You'll be meeting more than just my wife and her children this day, _cariad_."

"Oh?" Helena tilted her head up at her father in mild curiosity, wondering what he was working up to telling her. "You're not trying to find some way to tell me that Marared is with child again, are you? I'd rather hoped she might be by now, if you are, and you needn't worry about needing to spare my feelings. I know you need sons, and I'm not one to hold another woman's good fortune against her just because I proved to be barren in my own marriage."

Her father blushed. "No, pet, it's not that. Well...that is, Marared _is_ pregnant, and I meant to tell you about that as well once we were sure it was safe—she's only just started her third month, you see, and she miscarried one before in her first marriage, which has left her wary of announcing this one's arrival too early—but this is a different matter." He took a deep steadying breath. "I...ah...I have another son living with me now. I've offered to raise him in the trade."

Helena thought briefly of her stepmother's young son from her first marriage, but she knew instinctively that wasn't the lad her father meant. He'd be too young still to be put to an apprenticeship. Taking in her father's faintly embarrassed look, she ventured another guess. "I take it he's not simply a fosterling. So, how old is my half-brother?"

Judging by Master Ednyved's sheepish expression, her question had hit its mark. "He's fourteen. Nigh onto fifteen, actually, come October."

"Ah." Helena mentally counted back the years. She'd been sixteen when she wed, and her mother had died not long after—two years later, as Helena recalled. Long enough to see her daughter wed securely; not long enough to know how bitterly that marriage would eventually end. Her father had remained a widower for years after, not remarrying until his business partner had died unexpectedly and young Marared had found herself in need of a provider. Evidently he'd not entirely lacked for female companionship during those years when he'd lacked a wife, if he'd managed to father a son during that span of time. "And what's his name?"

Her father heaved a quiet sigh of relief that the worst seemed to be over. "Henri, though he's called Hal."

Helena's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Henri? Is he Jouvian?"

Ednyved blushed again. "Bremagni, actually. I...ah...had an arrangement with his mother for a while, when I was there on extended business, but it's long been over, and her health began to fail last year..." He broke off at his daughter's upraised hand.

"No need to make a full confession of it, Da," Helena assured him. "I have a brother and he lives with you now, that's sufficient information. I assume Marared has no objection to his presence here, or that you're training him up in your trade?"

"No, no objection. I plan to see Hal gets a good start in life, and that he's provided for, but it's our own _bachgen_ who'll inherit from me in the end, once I pass from this life to the next. She knows that, and as her first son is already provided for out of his own Da's half of the business, Marared has no worries over it as long as Hal's portion doesn't take away anything from any future sons we might have together." He cast a droll smile upwards at his palatial home. "I suspect I can leave any number of future sons and daughters well enough provided for in any case, unless the Lord sees fit to endow me with half a village's number of progeny."

"Let's hope He stops a little short of that, or your poor bride might end up gelding you." Helena tilted her head towards the doorway before them. "Speaking of whom, when do I get to meet her?"

Ednyved chuckled. "Now, I suppose."

#

Helena found herself swiftly ensconced in her father's comfortable solar, seated in a cozy oriel window with a cushioned bench. She had been in this room before, of course, having spent a large part of her childhood at Plasnewydd, but Marared had put her own special touches on the place since she'd last seen her father's home, and while a few of its furnishings remained as they'd been in Helena's mother's day, many had been replaced or moved to other locations over the years, so the chamber looked far different now from her girlhood memories of it. She found it quite pleasantly appointed nonetheless, if a little disconcerting to see old familiar haunts made over so completely.

Cass sat a little to one side, allowing herself to be drawn out by young Hal's questions about the City of Rhemuth and life at the Schola. Despite their closeness in age—both had been born in October of the same year—the youth seemed slightly in awe of their family's younger visitor. As to his feelings toward his elder half-sister, he'd seemed somewhat abashed when they'd first been introduced, his eyes wary as if half-expecting her to recoil in horror at being presented with their father's bastard get, but at Helena's matter-of-fact acceptance of him, he'd relaxed slightly, though not to the point yet of feeling fully comfortable in her presence.

Marared bustled back into the room, followed by a maidservant bearing a tray laden with a variety of light refreshments. She motioned for the girl to set the tray down on a nearby table, giving her husband's daughter a shy smile as she offered her a goblet of watered wine. Helena smiled back as she accepted the beverage. She'd found her father's bride very welcoming and almost overly eager to please.

"Do sit, Marared," Helena urged her. "There's no need to treat me as some special guest; I'm just family."

The young woman's cheeks turned rosy. "Oh, but I've so looked forward to meeting you, Elen," she said quietly. "Ednyved has spoken of you so often, I feel like I half know you already." A small commotion outside the door drew Marared's notice, and she straightened. "That must be Nurse returning with my children. They're young yet, and I'm afraid quite noisy at times. I hope they won't be too much of a bother while you're here," she fretted.

"I don't mind a bit of noise," Helena assured her, patting the seat cushion beside her invitingly. "I teach at a Schola, remember?"

"Oh yes, Ednyved's quite proud of your scholarship. I only have a little learning myself, I'm afraid, but my Anest has started learning her letters and Owain already writes with a clear hand, so I'm hoping they'll go further than I did with it."

"I'm sure Da will see to that."

The door opened, and two young children burst in, a nursemaid close upon their heels, with their step-father bringing up the rear, giving his wife an indulgent smile over their heads. "I'm afraid we had to make a slight detour for an unscheduled bath," Master Ednyved explained. "The children were making mud pies in the back garden." He grinned. "Well, Anest was, at any rate. Owain was negotiating with one of the neighbor lads to see what the pies might bring in trade." He ruffled the boy's hair affectionately.

"Oh dear!" Marared looked torn between horror and pride. "How soiled _were_ they?"

Her husband chuckled. "You really don't want to know, _cariad_." Turning his attention to his eldest child, he gave a perfunctory introduction. "Elen, these are your step-siblings, Owain and Anest. Children, how do you greet your sister Elen?"

Owain bobbed a stiffly polite bow in Helena's direction while little Anest ventured a wobbly curtsey. Helena stifled a laugh and politely inclined her head in return. The children made similar courtesies towards Cass, the older girl returning them gravely enough, though afterward she caught Helena's eye with an amused look.

"All right, you two, back to the nursery with you. If you mind your manners and don't make Nurse pull out all her hair, you may rejoin us later for supper," their step-father told them.

The children giggled. "What if Nurse only pulls out half her hair?" Anest ventured.

"Then you'll have to take your supper standing because your bottoms will be too sore for sitting, I daresay," the nursemaid good-naturedly grumbled. "So let's not find out the hard way."

Master Ednyved gave the woman a sympathetic smile. "Once more into battle then, off you all go."

#

Once they'd finished their light nuncheon, Mistress Marared showed her household's two visitors upstairs to the chamber reserved for their use. It had been Helena's former bedchamber, and here the magistra discovered that little had been changed since last she saw the room. A box bed occupied the space against one wall, and Helena's quick perusal showed that her trunk had been carried upstairs and set at the bed's head. Cass's smaller bag sat upon a nearby table, close to a basin and ewer that looked new since Helena's last visit, although nearly all else was as Helena had left it upon her last visit, aside from being clean and tidy enough that it was obvious the chamber still received a regular dusting and airing out despite its current lack of occupancy.

"I'll leave you two to rest and settle in," their hostess told them, "though you're welcome to come back down at any time. It's just that I know how tiring a journey can be, and you needn't feel obliged to be social if you're too tired."

Helena hadn't felt especially tired until that moment, but as if the very suggestion had brought on the expected fatigue, she yawned. Glancing over at Cass, she spied a look of silent relief cross the girl's features. Turning back to Marared, she smiled. "Yes, now that you mention it, I think perhaps a nap might be in order for us both. I'd hate to get our days and nights too turned around, though, so if we've not risen in a couple of hours, would you please wake us?"

"Right gladly," her father's wife assured her. "I'll see you have time to freshen up well before the evening meal." Marared left, closing the door discreetly behind her. The two travelers shed their outer robes, taking turns enjoying the reviving coolness of the water in the ewer to wash away the light sheen of perspiration brought on by the Llanneddan August heat now that they were back on land and mostly sheltered from the ocean's cooling breezes. A light breeze still found them through the open window, and they luxuriated in the feel of that faint eddy of air against moist skin. Helena glanced at her former bed. Although the box bed curtains had been drawn back to avoid trapping in the day's heat, the enclosed space didn't look very inviting on such a hot day, so instead she drew forth the narrow drawer beneath the bed to reveal a thin down-stuffed pallet where her former tiring maid had once slept. It would serve well enough for their brief rest.

A songbird twittered outside. Cass yawned and sank down gratefully on the pallet. Helena finished folding her veil and wimple, setting them aside along with veil bands and pins, and joined her. Within minutes, both were fast asleep.

#

They awoke to a pounding on the door. Helena sat bolt upright. Cass was already awake, her defenses up, though she looked to her magistra for guidance.

A voice came through the wooden door—a man's voice—its tone urgent. "Mistress Elen? Th' young master's been injured. Yer father said t' come quick-like, he's worrit th' lad's t' lose his eye if ye tarry."

The two Deryni glanced at each other, then leaped off the pallet, scrambling into their outer robes. "I'll be there now in a minute," Helena called out as they dressed. "Where are they?"

"In th' back storeroom on t'other side of the courtyard, beyond th' gardens."

Helena didn't bother with replacing her headgear here in her father's home and given the urgent summons. She settled for giving her hands and lower arms a quick wash, allowing Cass to pour the water over them and then switching roles so that Cass could wash as well, in case her help might be needed. "Enter," the magistra called out. The door opened, revealing one of her father's laborers standing in the corridor. They followed him down and out through the courtyard to where the injured lad waited.

#

When the two Deryni guests arrived, it was not little Owain who was injured, as Helena had half expected, but her half-brother Hal. He held one hand over his eye, beneath which a mixture of what looked to be blood and tears streamed, barely restrained by his father while Marared tried in vain to dab at his cheek with a damp rag. "Sit still, lad! You need to calm yourself," Master Ednyved urged, though he looked less than calm himself. Under the circumstances, Helena could see why. Something jutted out between the young man's fingers—something whose other end was clearly buried in Hal's eye—though he writhed and whimpered with pain to such an extent that she could not make out what it was at her present distance.

 _It would help if we could get him to sleep so I can take a closer look at the injury without him jerking around in a panic,_ Helena quickly Mind-Spoke to Cass as she crossed the short distance to her half-brother's side. To Hal himself, she soothed, "Son of my father, lower your hand please. I need to see what we're dealing with here."

He flashed her a brief glance with his uninjured eye, but it was to no avail; from its glazed look, either he'd failed to comprehend what she had said, or he was in too much pain to comply. He continued to flail, despite Ednyved's powerful grip on him.

Cass moved around Helena, gently moving Marared aside so she could face the young man directly, and cupped his chin in her hand, forcing his face around to look directly into his eyes. His whimpers died away briefly as his mind registered her presence, and he stared dazedly at her for a brief moment.

"Hal," Cass spoke, her voice soft but demanding, "You need to stop fighting and go to sleep."

For a moment longer, he sat still, but his fear overrode the control she attempted to set in that brief moment and he jerked away, rocking back into his father's arms. A look of sudden comprehension crossed Ednyved's face, and he brought one hand up to hold his son's head still, but before he could act further, Cass had grasped the lad's chin again in a gentle yet firm grip. "Damn it, look at me!" She leaned forward and surprised Hal with a quick kiss. As she drew back, the lad froze, gazing back at her in shock.

Keeping her gaze fixed on his, she commanded, "Stop being a ninny and sleep!"

He stared back dumbly, his good eye blinking up at her once, twice, and then he fell backwards limp and unresisting into Ednyved's arms. The merchant gently lifted him up onto a nearby table, chuckling quietly despite the grim circumstances. "That's certainly a unique approach, young mistress Cass. Did you learn that at your Schola?"

Cass scrubbed absently at her lips with the back of one hand. "No, but it worked. I needed to get his full attention for a moment, and figured that might do it." She snorted. "Men!" She moved Hal's bloody hand away from his injured eye, glancing back at Marared, who rinsed out her clean rag in a basin of fresh water and handed it to the girl. Cass dabbed gently at the skin around the injured eye, careful not to get too close to the protruding object, and shifted to one side to allow Helena better access to the wound.

Helena stood rooted in place for a moment, fighting down a sudden surge of panic—Jesú, she wasn't ready for such a test of her Healing gift yet! She overcame the momentary fear, moving forward to brush Hal's hair away from the injury so she could inspect it closely. "What happened here?" she murmured.

"I'm not entirely sure," her father said. "I didn't actually see it happen. We were unpacking some crates, and it looked like Hal was struggling to pull one of the nails out." He pointed to a nearby crate to show how its lid was secured with several nails around its periphery. "I told him to wait while I found a proper tool for the job and had started to go look for one, but I think he grew impatient and tried to bash the crate open. I only looked back when I heard the wood crack and the clatter of his dropped hammer..." Ednyved waved one hand helplessly. "He was clutching at his eye and wailing."

"Yes, I can see why." Helena sent a careful mental probe into the injured eye, trying to visualize the full extent of the injury. "This doesn't appear to be the nail itself, though. From what I can see of it, it looks more like a large splinter of wood broke off when he did whatever it was that he did, and it must have flown up and pierced his eyeball. I imagine his face must have been quite close to the crate at the time."

"I suppose." Ednyved stared down at his sleeping son. "Is there any saving it?"

Helena glanced up at him. "I don't know yet." Her mind whirled, trying to dredge up some solution to this problem. Master Janos had not covered the anatomy of the eye yet, not in any great depth at least, and she felt out of her element with this sort of injury. She laid gentle fingers over the closed eyelid of Hal's unwounded eye, trying to visualize its underlying structure, feeling what a healthy eye ought to feel like. Cass watched in silent interest.

"Make sure he remains asleep, and monitor him closely. Let me know if he seems to be going into any sort of shock...if he lapses into a deeper loss of consciousness, I mean, or if his heartbeat slows too much or becomes too rapid..." Cass wasn't Healer trained, and Helena hoped she wasn't asking for too much, but the girl's unruffled look and nod of assent reassured her.

Helena did another, more thorough probe of the injured eye, this time taking inventory of the differences between this eye and the healthier one, assessing how deeply the intruding object had penetrated and whether it would be safe to remove it immediately or if other precautions might be needed before she dared dislodge it from its present position. After a closer examination, she determined that it seemed safe enough to remove the large splinter, as long as she withdrew it carefully and at the same angle that it had gone in. Fortunately it was slightly tapered, with no barbs or protrusions that looked like they might cause more damage to the eye as the wooden object was drawn back out. The more worrisome prospect to her now was how to treat the injury once the splinter had been removed from it. Helena would like to have had a clearer view of what had been damaged within the eye's structure, but she dared not make the puncture any larger in order to see or feel inside it. This would not be like Healing a shallow surface cut, or even like Healing a stab wound large enough to feel the deep tissues underlying the skin and then begin healing them from the inside out by first determining the extent of the injury by tactile means.

She glanced up to meet Cass's gaze. "I'm about to make my attempt. Let me know if anything changes in his pulse or breathing. If you sense that I'm causing him pain, do your best to alleviate it."

The girl nodded. "I'll do my part. You can do this, magistra," Cass said quietly.

Helena wasn't so sure—this felt well beyond the current scope of her training to her—but she knew she had to try.

#

The splinter slipped back out of Hal's eye with little resistance. Ednyved extended an upraised palm for it as Helena drew it forth. She dropped it into her father's hand and immediately turned her attention back to the leaking wound which now gushed with a sudden flow of fresh blood mingled with some clear jelly-like substance, slipping into a trance as she sought to see the wound from within, comparing the damaged eye to the normal one once more for a frame of reference before drawing upon her Healing gift, letting it flow up through her and into the injured tissues as she sought to knit them back together again. She began at the deepest level of the injury that she could sense, working her way outward, slowly mending the tear in the delicate tissues until there was nothing left to indicate where the puncture had been but a thin, faint scar. Cass handed her the damp cloth again, and Helena dabbed away the remaining blood and viscous jelly that had flowed from the open wound earlier. She knew Sister Therese would prescribe liquids to help restore the lost blood. She hoped it might replace the clearer goo that had come from deep within the eye as well, though she was less sure about that, since this was a sort of injury she had not been taught how to deal with as of yet. She'd certainly have a lot of questions for Master Janos when next they met, that was for certain!

"Will he be all right, Mistress Elen?" Marared asked, her voice tinged with awe.

"I can't say for sure yet," Helena told her, accepting the basin Marared handed her and rinsing her hands in it. Taking a towel from her, she added, "There's still the danger that the wound site could become infected, though I know a few remedies that will hopefully prevent that, and a few other things we might try if an infection sets in despite our efforts."

"But will he be able to see, once it heals? Or...is it fully Healed now?" her father asked.

Helena sighed. "I have no idea, Da. I suppose once he wakes, he'll have to tell us that himself." She studied the scar thoughtfully, her lips quirking in a wry smile. "I'd say this was a case of the blind Healing the blinded, but let's hope that's not entirely accurate." Looking up at her father's grim face, she shrugged helplessly. "I've never worked on an injury of this scope, Da. So far I've mainly just had to deal with the theory more than the practice of Healing, learning about internal anatomy and the standard means of dealing with various sorts of wounds in various locations. In terms of actual practice, I've Healed a few cuts and scrapes and the occasional laceration, and this year I worked up to setting a few bones, but this is the first time I've attempted anything this complex without a more experienced Healer's supervision."

"Should I see if I can find some willow bark for a tisane against pain, in case the eye is still a bit sore when he wakes up?" Cass asked.

Helena pondered. She was fairly certain she'd stopped all the bleeding, both inside and out, but what if she hadn't? Would the tisane make the patient bleed more freely? It could happen sometimes, for the same tisane that helped to cure pain could also thin the blood, making it flow rather than clot when clotting was needed. She wished Tessa were here to guide her.

"No, let's see how he feels when he wakes first, and then work from there." She considered her options. "Let's go ahead and and brew up a _Vinaigre de Quatre Voleurs_ for him to sip as a tonic, though. That should do him no harm, and might well prevent anything worse from setting in."


	17. Part II--Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

 _Plasnewydd, The City of Pwyllheli, Llannedd  
August 30, 1136_

"Everything looks good from this side of things," Master Ednyved reassured his son as he and Helena examined the Healed eye closely in the sunlight of the courtyard. "No one would ever guess you had a two-inch long splinter sticking out of your eye just a few days ago. Can you _see_ with it yet, though?"

Hal shook his head, looking glum. "Not any better than I could yesterday. I can see light and some shadowy shapes—I can tell where you are, for instance—but it's like looking through a cloudy haze. It's distracting." He slipped a patch back over that eye. "I prefer just to use the good one."

Helena looked stricken. She fought down tears, attempting to regain control over her emotions before saying, "I could take another look, see if there was something that I missed..." There _had_ to have been something she'd missed, though she didn't know what. Perhaps the clouded vision was caused by blood that had become trapped inside the lad's eye when she'd sealed the wound. Could it be drained, or would that do more harm than good at this point? Might the body simply absorb it in good time, as a sponge might soak up water, drawing it out of Hal's eye so that his vision would return more clearly once his body finished healing naturally on its own?

"No, thank you." Hal's voice was polite enough, but Helena could sense his distrust nonetheless. No, not _distrust_ exactly; perhaps a lack of confidence would be closer to his true feelings. All the same, she knew she had failed him, and that knowledge weighed heavily on her heart.

She drew her father aside. "Master Janos, the Magister of Healer Studies, is one of the Torenthi Court Healers and quite well trained in the field. As well trained as any Healer is in the Eleven Kingdoms these days, at any rate. Perhaps he could be persuaded to take a look at Hal's eye. I don't know that he'd have several days to spare from his Court duties for a journey to Llannedd, but if there were a Portal nearby that he could be allowed access to...?" She broke off as her father shook his head.

"I don't know, _cariad_. My son is Bremagne-born, remember. I've kept quiet until quite recently about our family's Deryni connections, not knowing how he'd feel about that side of his heritage, and while I took his curiosity about young Cass's scholarship with the Servants of Saint Camber as an encouraging sign, I haven't been fully open with him yet about our bloodline. He may well believe your powers come solely from your mother's side of the family, since he has none of his own, and mine are so weak I rarely even try to use them anymore. If he hadn't been asleep at the time, I don't know how he'd have felt about Deryni Healing, or if he would have given his consent to it. _I_ believe you did the right thing—he'd definitely have lost the eye altogether if you'd not been here to intervene, and even if he hadn't, I'm not sure we could have kept the wound from becoming infected—but I can't speak for Hal's feelings on the matter, and until I've had a chance to have a serious talk with him about the whole business, I wonder if having some unknown Deryni drop in and trying to get his hand into this as well might not do him more harm than good at this point." He gave his daughter a wry smile. "Especially a Torenthi Deryni. I'm sure your magister friend is an honorable man, but still..." He glanced over his shoulder at his son and gave a resigned shrug.

"If Hal should give his consent, though, is there a Portal handy that you know of?"

Ednyved turned his palms up in a _Who knows?_ gesture. "I certainly haven't created one, and the only one I've ever known of here in Pwyllheli was destroyed in a fire nearly twenty years ago. Or at least I assume it was destroyed. At any rate, another building has gone up where it used to be since that time, so I'd have no way to get access to it now even if it's still functional. Oh, there's probably one in the Cathedral somewhere, and possibly even one at the Royal Court, but I'd hate to have to explain to the King or the Archbishop why I'm snooping around trying to locate tingly flagstones in order to smuggle some Torenthi magical adept I've never even met into the Kingdom." He shook his head with a reluctant grin. "No, not even for Hal's sake. If he were dying, maybe, but not for the loss of an eye when he's got another that will serve well enough."

#

 _Penardd Quay, Pwyllheli  
August 31, 1136_

"So, will we be seeing you again next summer, daughter?" Ednyved asked as one of his men saw to loading Helena's travel chest onto one of his ships.

"I hope so, Da," his daughter assured him. "I should be able to come earlier in the summer next time, and that will allow for a longer visit." Hopefully any lingering awkwardness caused by Hal's injury and her inability to fully Heal it would have dissipated during that time, but she added, "I'll check with Master Janos about what might be done for Hal once he returns to Rhemuth for the autumn term classes."

"Don't fret over it so, _bach_ ," her father consoled. "If your Master Janos comes up with a remedy, then we'll be right glad for it, but if not, we'll accept God's will. At least Hal's _got_ an eye left and his health, and those are both things to be grateful for, aren't they?"

"The lad sees it otherwise, I think," Helena said.

"Aye, well, he's young yet. Young men his age think they're indestructible, and when they learn they're not, it's a bitter tonic to swallow. Give him time, _cariad_. He'll soon come around to seeing how fortunate it was for him that you were there to help him as you did." Ednyved glanced back to where his son was making a great show of gallantry, insisting on carrying Cass's small bag on board the ship for her, even though she argued she was perfectly capable of carrying it the short distance herself. The two seemed engaged in an amicable quarrel over the matter. The merchant smiled.

"Hal appears to be quite taken by your pretty Cass. I don't suppose the feeling might be mutual?"

Helena shook her head. "It's hard to say—Cass tends to play her feelings quite close to her chest—but she's not said anything to me to indicate any particular interest in Hal or any other lad I'm aware of." She pondered the question. "She and one of the other pupils at the Schola, a former kitchen boy named Jemmy, have become close friends, though I don't believe there's any romantic interest there either. Plenty of time for that sort of thing once she's older, though, Da; she's barely into womanhood yet, and still has another year left to her studies at the very least."

Ednyved nodded. "And at that age, feelings change like the direction of the wind. Hal's are certainly no exception. Still, I've his future to consider, and a steady-minded young lass like that would be an asset to him, there's no doubt of that."

"True, though I'm sure steady-minded lasses are not so rare in Llannedd yet that Hal needs to look so far afield for one. Unless, of course, Cass is agreeable to the notion as well. And there'd be her mother's plans for her to consider also, if Kate Draper has anyone in particular in mind for her daughter as yet." Helena chuckled. "Though Mistress Draper strikes me as a shrewd enough businesswoman to immediately recognize the advantages to herself of such a match." She gazed at her student and her half-brother, now on board the ship and retreating towards the cabin. "I suppose it would do no harm to allow him to write to her, if he's so minded. Cass isn't exactly shy about speaking her mind, though, if she's asked for her thoughts on the matter, so if it should turn out that she's not as interested in him as he appears to be in her, she'll doubtless make her mind known readily enough. You may well end up finding yourself needing to nurse a wounded heart."

Ednyved snorted. "If so, the lad will mend in time. Any man who hasn't had his heart broken at least half a dozen times by the time he reaches his twenty-fifth year hasn't truly lived yet." He winked at his daughter, who laughed and gave her father a tight hug.

"I love you, Da."

#

 _Eddington Manor, a short distance from Concaradine  
September 3, 1136_

"Oh please, Magistra Helena, might I accompany you and Cass back to Rhemuth?" Ædwige's eyes implored her teacher to consider the matter. "That would save Martin the bother of having to put together a suitable escort for me; I'm sure he'd be ever so grateful." The young widow glanced around as if to make sure no one else was close enough to hear, then added in a low voice, "I'm really eager to get back to the Schola and my old life and put all of this behind me. It's so awkward, staying here and having everyone cluck over me, especially now that I've arranged matters here to where I'm not really needed any longer. Martin's well capable of handling most matters without me, and he's said he can get a message to me quickly enough if something should come up that requires my input."

"Well..." Helena thought the request over. "I don't see why you _couldn't_ return to the Schola with us, if you're certain your household has things well in hand here now. How soon would you be ready to travel, though?"

Ædwige's brilliant smile flashed, brightening the features beneath the dark veil. "Oh, thank you, magistra! I can be ready to set forth with you at morning's light. I have a few things packed in my travel chest already, and if I should find I have need for aught else once I arrive in Rhemuth, I can always send for it later." She paused as a sudden thought struck her. "I suppose you're returning the same way you came, going upriver on a barge rather than traveling by coach? Hm." She frowned slightly, then brightened. "Never mind, I can just have Martin send Celestia on to Rhemuth later. I'll want to make proper arrangements first for her to be kept in the castle stables, after all, and that's probably something best done ahead of time if it's to be done at all fittingly."

 _Yes, the King's grooms will need time to arrange for a gilded stall and the finest grains in the Kingdom to be on hand for the Queen of Palfreys' arrival,_ Cass Mind-Spoke to Helena, barely managing to refrain from rolling her eyes.

Helena didn't dignify the barb with so much as a glance back at the sarcastic scholar. "I'm sure there's time enough to consider any such arrangements after you get settled back in, dear, and you might find you don't really need Celestia on hand after all. You'll not be back indefinitely, after all; as I recall, you only had another year of studies to complete. So you might well decide moving her simply isn't worth the bother, if you'll be returning here to Eddington Manor after you've finished your training."

Ædwige pondered the matter, looking less than certain of her magistra's assertion. "But what if I decide to stay in Rhemuth longer?" she asked.

"Well, you'll have to return home occasionally," Cass reminded her. "You _are_ the lady of the manor, after all, and your heir will need to become familiar with his inheritance."

The young widow looked momentarily startled, then annoyed. "Well, yes, eventually he shall need to be here, but I hardly think he'll need to start in his cradle years!" She glanced around at her late husband's manor. "Well, if I _must_ make regular visits to this mouldering old heap, at least I'll have lots of time to make it a bit less of an eyesore."

"You seem to have got rid of your rats, at least," Helena observed. "I've not seen any signs of vermin on either of our visits; I take it the mortweed was helpful?"

Ædwige turned back to her with a quizzical frown for a moment, then her expression cleared. "Oh, yes, the mortweed! Yes, magistra, it was very effective. Thank you."

Helena smiled. "You're quite welcome. So, does that mean little Boots will be traveling back to Rhemuth with us also, and not relegated to keeping watch over the kitchen or stables?"

"Indeed he shall." Ædwige picked up the kitten, who began to purr as she buried her face in his soft fur. "I wouldn't dream of leaving behind my precious Bootsy!"

#

 _Rector's study, St. Hilary's Basilica, Rhemuth  
September 5, 1136—late afternoon_

"Well, would you look who's back!" Sister Therese enfolded Ædwige in a warm embrace.

Bishop Duncan looked up from the text of an ancient manuscript that Brother Everard had newly copied for him. "Lady Ædwige!" He rose to greet the returning scholar.

"Bishop McLain!" She fell to one knee before him, beaming up at him. He smiled back, extending his hand to her. She bent to kiss the bishop's ring reverently. "I'm so glad to be back!"

"We're glad to have you back," he told her, turning his hand palm-upwards to offer his assistance in rising. His gaze moved past her to the two women standing in the doorway behind her. "And both of you as well." His eyes lingered briefly on Helena with a smile before he turned his attention to Cass. "How did you enjoy your first journey outside of Rhemuth, Cass?"

The draper's daughter smiled back at him. "I could have done without the sea travel, but other than that, it was mostly enjoyable."

"Oh dear," Sister Therese fretted, "I should have thought to send some of my ginger syrup along with you!"

Cass laughed. "That's what Sister Helena said too. That she should have thought to make some beforehand, that is, not that she said you ought to have supplied it." She grinned at the magistra. "Don't worry, I managed to keep my breakfast in me on the trip to Llannedd...barely. And Sister Helena showed me how to make your syrup while we were there, so we had an ample supply of it for the trip back. It _did_ help quite a bit."

Sister Therese looked at her roommate, a twinkle in her brown eyes. "I'm glad to hear you paid close attention to your studies in my class, Helena," she joked.

"Yes; I just wish I'd had more tutorials with Master Janos as well," Helena responded, her smile back at Therese slightly strained.

"Oh? Why, did something happen?" Duncan asked, noting Helena's shadowed expression with concern.

"An accident in Llannedd," Helena answered. She heard someone approach from behind her and glanced back, then stepped further into the room to let the newcomer in. "I'll tell you later."

Brother Everard entered, smiling at Ædwige. "I've had your things brought up to your new chamber in Abbot's Tower; that should give you a bit more privacy than you used to have in the maidens' dormitorium. Your kitten is busily exploring the chamber, and I've left a bowl of food and some water for him as well."

"Oh, that reminds me, I suppose I shall need some sort of sandbox for him..."

"That's taken care of as well. You'll be sharing a room with Princess Rothana, and she's already adopted one of Boots's litter mates."

The returning scholar looked startled. "With Princess Rothana?"

Sister Therese nodded, explaining on Brother Everard's behalf. "We felt since you're a little bit older than most of the maidens still living in the dormitorium, not to mention you're recently widowed and, according to Sister Helena's message apprising us of your desire to return here, also expecting an heir in due course, it would be best for you to have separate quarters for your remaining year at the Schola so you can get adequate rest, not to mention more privacy. Sister Rothana had some extra room in her chamber now that Albin has grown old enough to prefer sharing quarters with other boys his age, so she offered to share her chamber with you until you've finished your studies."

"Oh." Ædwige looked a little nonplussed, although once she'd had a moment to absorb the idea, she began to smile. "That was most gracious of her. I shall have to thank her for her thoughtfulness. And all of you also, for thinking of it. I confess I hadn't looked that far ahead yet, but yes, I _should_ prefer more privacy."

"Sister Therese, would you show Ædwige to her new chamber?" the rector asked.

"Right gladly, Father," the infirmarian assured him. She moved towards the door, pausing briefly to envelop Helena in a brief hug as she passed. "I've missed you too," she told her roommate, smiling.

Duncan glanced at Helena's traveling companion. "Cass, I imagine you probably wish to see your friends again and tell them about your trip. I need a few more minutes of Sister Helena's time, but you needn't wait on us to finish if you'd rather go on and find them."

Cass smiled gratefully. "Thank you, Father."

#

After the others had left the study, Duncan cast his senses beyond the open door, beyond the study's walls to the corridor beyond, assuring himself that they had moved beyond earshot before he turned his attention back to Helena. He motioned her towards a nearby chair, taking another one facing it. "What's wrong?" he asked quietly.

She shrugged, feeling self-conscious. "Am I that transparent?"

"Not really. Perhaps a little quieter than usual, which could simply mean you're tired and I ought to let you go up and rest, but I suspect there's a bit more to it than that." He studied her face, taking note of her strained expression and the faint shadows under her eyes. "You mentioned something about an accident earlier?"

Tears sprang up quickly in Helena's eyes for a brief moment before she hastily blinked them away. Duncan did another quick sensory check beyond the study walls before reaching for her hand, clasping it gently. "What happened?"

The story came tumbling out of her then, the words pouring out so swiftly that Duncan could barely keep up. Wordlessly he encouraged her to supplement spoken words with memories, the better to understand the cause for her distress, and through the light link between them the images began to flow. The urgent summons, her dash to her father's storeroom to go to her brother's aid, Hal's gruesome accident, her attempt to help, and her inability to restore his vision. A quiet sound permeated his consciousness with this last memory, and after a brief moment he realized it was a sob, so soft he might not have heard it, had it not been right next to his ear.

He opened his eyes to realize he'd at some point left his chair, was now kneeling at Helena's feet, her arms encircling his neck as she wept quietly on his shoulder, his wrapped around her in a comforting embrace. She seemed to realize this in the same instant, lifting her head suddenly, her eyes dazed, before meeting his gaze with a startled look and straightening in her chair, folding shaking hands in her lap and dropping her gaze down to them, her cheeks scarlet. Duncan reached up a finger to wipe a trailing tear off one rosy cheek then stood, returning to his own seat, taking a few seconds to gather up his composure.

"You did well," he told her once he could speak again. "Exceptionally well, actually. I suspect Master Janos will be quite delighted."

"But..." Helena looked shocked. "I failed him, Father! Hal can barely _see_ now."

Duncan nodded. "Yes, but from you've shown me, you handled the task as well as any Healer could do, even one with more experience. As for the continued impairment, unless I miss my guess, that will clear up in due time. Granted, I haven't had much experience in the actual treatment of eye injuries either, but I _have_ read a few more of Janos's texts on the subject than you have, and I suspect what is causing the clouded vision in Hal's eye is the blood remaining inside it. That will eventually drain out—I'm not sure exactly how that works, but it's part of the body's natural healing process—and once it does, Hal's vision should return to normal. Or at least it _should_ so long as the eye itself has been restored to normal, but from what I saw of your Healing technique, you seem to have had no trouble with that. At least _I_ didn't spot anything that you missed. Master Janos could tell us for sure. Or Hal himself, perhaps in a few weeks."

Despite herself, Helena found herself glancing at the place on Duncan's neck where he had borne the faint, telltale scar that had been evidence of his brief confrontation with Gaspard. The scar was completely gone now, not a trace remaining to show that it had ever existed. She brought her gaze back up to meet his face and found him smiling faintly at her, as if he'd divined her thoughts.

A faint noise from beyond the study walls caused him to glance away, his gaze growing unfocused as he turned his attention towards the source of the sound. After a moment's pause he turned his attention back to her, reaching inside his sleeve for a crisply folded handkerchief and handing it to her. "There seems to be something about my study that keeps reducing you to tears. I suppose we'd better find some more cheerful venue for these private conversations," he joked. "Surely the decor in here isn't _that_ bad?"

She managed a weak smile in return, gathering up her tattered composure. "I told you that you should have bought that Torenthi carpet for yourself, didn't I?" She dabbed at her eyes, wiped her nose on the cloth, and neatly refolded it, almost handing it back to him before she caught herself and tucked it into her pouch instead to wash later before returning it. A quick glance up at him revealed silent laughter in his eyes.

"Yes, you can keep that. If I'm ever in need of a keepsake from you, I'd prefer a lock of hair rather than a freshly soiled handkerchief."

She burst out laughing. He grinned. "I was just finishing up here," he told her. "Shall I walk you back to the Tower?"

"If you're sure you wouldn't be going out of your way," she answered, averting her eyes and carefully keeping her thoughts shielded in hopes that her eagerness to spend those few extra minutes in his company wouldn't be too transparent. The bishop carefully returned the manuscript copy he'd been reading to an enclosed cabinet and locked it up securely, then ushered Helena to the door. He stopped there almost as an afterthought and gave a low whistle. A sleek gray feline bounded out from beneath his desk and shot through the door. Duncan stepped through afterwards, locking the study door behind him.

"I accidentally locked Liath in here a few nights ago. She's learned her lesson, I think."

"Oh dear! Do you still keep a sandbox in there, or did she end up leaving you a present or two?"

He chuckled. "Neither, but she made a mad dash for freedom as soon as Brother Everard arrived the next morning. He nearly tripped over her when she ran out, and Sir William nearly skewered her when she tore past him until he realized she was a kitten and not a rat. He said she made for the open door and up the path towards the parklands as if twelve devils were chasing her."

She giggled at the mental image he sent her way. They turned towards the nave of the Basilica, walking through to the other side of the building, pausing briefly halfway through to pay proper reverence to the holy Presence. Exiting the building into the cloistered courtyard, Duncan stopped briefly to enjoy the warm summer evening and the sight of the stars above.

"This would be a nice evening for a wall walk. Have you ever looked down on Rhemuth at night from the top of one of the towers or from the city wall?" The rector arched a quizzical eyebrow at her.

She was surprised by the question. "I...no, I haven't, actually. I've been up there during the day a time or two, but I don't think I've ever gone up after sunset."

He glanced at the last lingering vestiges of sunlight in the sky. "Well, it's not _completely_ after sunset just yet, but I daresay it will be in just a few minutes. Shall we see if we can catch a glimpse before the sun completely disappears beneath the horizon?" A glint of mischief lit up his eyes, giving her an unexpected hint of what he must have looked like as a young lad contemplating mayhem with his favorite cousin. "I'll race you to the top of Abbot's Tower."

Helena laughed. "And break both our necks if you slip on the stairs and knock me over tumbling back down them? No, we'll go up at a safe pace, so you can pretend you're a responsible role model for our scholars, and if we get there too late, you'll just have to show me some other evening."

"Act responsibly? What fun is that?" he pretended to grumble as they crossed the courtyard together, although he kept to a sedate pace. A giggle echoed from one of the cloistered walks, and he paused. "Briony, is that you?" he asked, peering into the shadows beyond the pillared arches.

"Yes, Uncle Duncan." Alaric's daughter stepped out into the less shadowed courtyard. "Good evening, Uncle. And Magistra Helena," she added as she recognized the other person walking with Duncan.

Duncan glanced pointedly up at the darkening sky. "Shouldn't you be back in the Queen's Tower by now?"

"Yes, my lord, except that she's given me leave to stay over a little longer because of Ædwige's return home. Brendan is here tonight, though, and he's offered to walk me back to the Queen's solar once I'm done visiting." Beside her, a taller figure emerged from the cloistered walk, giving Duncan a sketchy salute of greeting.

"Ah. All right, as long as Brendan's with you." He smiled at them both. "If you were planning to look for Ædwige in the girls' dormitorium, you might not find her there. She's sharing quarters with Princess Rothana now."

Another giggle, then another figure stepped forward from the shadows. "They know, Bishop Duncan. I told them."

Duncan laughed. "Good evening, Ædwige. Is there anyone else hiding in the shadows?" He cast his senses in that direction but detected no one else.

"All present and accounted for, sir," Brendan joked. "And it _is_ about time for me to get you back to the Castle, Briony."

The younger girl made a little moue of annoyance, but didn't argue. She made her goodbyes to her friend as Duncan and Helena walked past, Duncan moving a few steps ahead to open the door at the base of Abbot's Tower. Helena entered, moving towards the staircase that led up past the magistri's quarters and out at the top of the tower, the rector following close behind her.


	18. Part II--Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

 _Abbot's Tower, St. Hilary's Basilica  
September 5, 1136_

The top edge of the setting sun was just barely visible above the western horizon by the time Duncan and Helena reached the top of Abbot's Tower, casting ruddy fingers of light across the Eirian River and the tree tops of the King's forest beyond it. Above the setting sun, crimson sky faded into violet twilight. Looking eastward, they could see the starlight grow brighter in the gathering darkness. The moon still hung low in the sky, just beginning to rise behind the city's eastern gates.

Helena turned back towards the sunset, enraptured. "Oh, it's truly lovely from up here! Tessa and I can't see at this distance from our chamber. Thank you for showing this to me."

"You're welcome," Duncan said simply. They watched as the sun finished sinking beneath the treeline, plunging the world into deeper shadow, then he touched her elbow and gestured towards the other side of the tower. "And now look eastward, beyond the Castle walls towards the City."

She followed him to the other side of the tower until she had a clear view beyond the castle walls and the other castle towers to the lights of Rhemuth beyond. She caught her breath at the shimmer of golden lights scattered like a cloud of fireflies in the deeper gloom of nightfall—some the dim gleam of candlelight shining through windows not yet closed for the night, some the brighter glow of distant torchlights turning the city streets into a cobweb of faint reflected light and shadows. In the distance she could see the Cathedral, a diamond studded centerpiece at the heart of Gwynedd's capital.

"Oh, my! And I thought Pwyllheli was beautiful at night."

Duncan leaned against the tower parapet, gazing out at the sight of the city lights, silent for a moment. Without turning back to her, he broke the silence at last, saying quietly, "Helena, I have a problem...well, maybe not a _problem_ exactly, but...perhaps it would be better to call it a delicate situation that I haven't yet worked out how to deal with."

"Oh?" Helena turned slightly to glance at his profile, silhouetted in the darkness. "Is it something I could help you sort out? Perhaps if we just talk it through, we can figure out some solution."

He chuckled. "I hope so." He traced the stonework of one of the blocks at the top of the parapet with a finger, looking as if he might be casting around in his mind for the right words. At last he sighed, giving her a sidelong glance. "I seem to be forming an attachment to you." In the pale moonlight, she thought she saw what might have been a blush darken his cheeks as he continued. "At first, I tried to ignore it, in hopes that not acknowledging those feelings might make them go away. When I realized that wouldn't work, I considered just remaining silent, hoping that maybe if I simply avoided spending any more time with you than strictly necessary, I could get past it, and perhaps you'd never even notice." He gave a wry smile. "That seemed a craven's way out, though, not to mention that trying to avoid one of my magistri for any span of time beyond a day or two would probably be almost as conspicuous as simply losing my head altogether and courting you in the town square."

Helena gave a startled laugh at the thought, her own cheeks burning. "Um...no, I suppose neither of those options would be the best idea, under the circumstances."

He turned to face her more fully. "I also didn't want to simply avoid the subject—and you—because if you _did_ happen to notice, I didn't want you thinking that you've done something wrong or have done anything to give offense. You haven't." He glanced down at his hand, its amethyst-jeweled bishop's ring resting lightly atop the parapet wall. "I...just thought you deserved to know. It's a struggle I've faced before; I just don't want to make a misstep, and God knows I don't want to say or do anything that might hurt you in any way." He paused, as if pondering what else he might need to confess, and then added, "I still think it's possible for a close friendship to exist between a man and a woman even if it can't go beyond that, but my struggle is in finding that proper balance. I don't want to make the same mistakes this time that I made as a younger man. Not that I made many serious mistakes—no lapse in my vows or anything of that sort. Just...there were moments I probably should have handled far differently in that relationship, looking back."

This time it was Helena who looked away briefly, summoning up her courage to say what was in her heart before glancing shyly back up at him. "Duncan...I think my heart skipped past what I'd call mere 'friendship' a long time ago."

He stared at her in momentary surprise, then took her hand in his, chuckling wryly as he bowed his head reverently over it before brushing a brief, courtly kiss over her fingers. "Jesú, Helena, aren't we the awkward pair? I'm not free to remarry, and you're not minded to accept another courtship even if I were." He grinned. "You just want to curl up with all my dusty old books."

She laughed softly, the sound ending with a quiet sob. "Well, I possibly might have made an exception for you. Oh, Jesú, how _do_ we manage this?"

"Woman, don't you dare cry again; I haven't another handkerchief!"

She giggled. "I'm being serious, you dolt!"

"So am I!" Duncan turned, leaning his back against the low wall, and stared up at the night sky. "As for how we're going to manage, I think the first thing we need to do is set up a few ground rules."

Helena nodded. "What sort of ground rules?"

He glanced around at their surroundings. "Well, for one thing, while bringing you up here seemed like a good way to ensure our continued privacy for this conversation, I'm beginning to think maybe it's just a little _too_ private." He quirked a smile at her. "I haven't stolen a kiss in years. Probably should banish any chance of that happening now, shouldn't I, since I vaguely recall it's quite habit-forming and that probably would work against our best interests?" His smile grew into a wry grin as he cupped his hand and created a silvery orb of handfire, rolling it from one palm to the other before sending it drifting upwards over their heads, illuminating them like a miniature moon.

She blinked in the sudden brightness. "Does that help?" she asked, stifling a laugh, her cheeks pink.

"Immensely." He tilted his head slightly towards one of the other castle towers in the near distance. Glancing that way, Helena saw one of the Rhemuth castle guards peering back in their direction, doubtless curious about the sudden appearance of Deryni-created light above the Abbot's Tower.

Duncan created another small orb of light and then another, as if demonstrating the talent for Helena's benefit. The distant guard watched the show for a few more moments before resuming his patrol over his assigned section of the wall walk. Duncan sent the smaller orbs into a slow circle around the larger one.

"Show-off," Helena joked. She sobered after a moment. "Won't others talk, if we're spotted up here together?"

"If we were spotted up here in the darkness, looking as if we were trying to hide the fact we're sharing a private moment together, they probably would. I ought to have thought of that earlier. Two Schola staff having a conversation in full view of God, the city, and everybody, standing on a rooftop with a good deal of illumination to show they're not hiding anything, ought not to attract too much speculation, though. At least not over and above the usual 'What is that odd Deryni lot up to now?' sort." He glanced up at the orbiting spheres. "I think it's your turn to add to the light show."

She shook her head. "You're an overgrown schoolboy, Duncan McLain." Cupping her hand, she formed a globe of pale blue light and sent it floating up to join the others.

"Even grownups need to play sometimes." With a mental nudge he rearranged the formation so that his own silvery spheres reconfigured around the blue one.

#

They stood side by side in companionable silence for a short while, adding a few more spheres to the growing collection of lights circling overhead then idly rearranging their pattern, dimly aware that a small crowd had started to gather far below to watch. After a few minutes, Duncan, still leaning against the parapet wall, gathered all of his silver spheres into one large globe of light, which contracted into a fist-sized ball. He held a loosely clenched hand beneath it, then opened his hand suddenly, fingers splayed. The ball of light exploded into several smaller lights which shone briefly then winked out.

They stood together in the pale blue light of Helena's handfire. Slowly she gathered hers in as well.

"It's getting late," she said, sounding reluctant to break the enchantment of the evening.

"Yes, and you've had a long journey. I ought to let you rest."

Helena passed a cupped hand over her orb and extinguished it, plunging them into darkness once more. Duncan moved towards the rooftop door, opening it to reveal the torchlit stairway beyond. She stepped through, Duncan securing the door behind her.

#

 _St. Camber's Schola, St. Hilary's Basilica  
September 6, 1136_

Duncan crossed the Basilica courtyard on his way to his study. Several students sat on a bench near the cloistered walk, watching Ciaran MacArdry make what appeared to be an attempt to juggle balls of handfire, only the three glowing spheres drifted lazily in an arc rather than rising and falling swiftly like stuffed leather balls. One of his classmates snickered. The rector suppressed a smile, pretending he hadn't noticed the failed attempt, and continued on.

A bright glow close to the walkway leading to the Schola's kitchen caught his eye, and he slowed his steps to glance in that direction. It was Siany this time, the Queen's young half-sister, rolling a sphere of handfire from her palm to her fingertips and, with a flip of her wrist, onto the back of her hand, watching it roll partway up her forearm before reversing its direction so that it rolled back down her hand, over her fingertips, and rested in her palm once more. He'd seen similar tricks done with crystal balls before. The girl looked up, catching Duncan's eye, and he smiled at her with a nod of approval before moving on.

He entered the Basilica's nave, walking through the quiet sanctuary, into the corridor leading to his study. As he rounded the corner, he found the study door already unlocked and open—not an unusual occurrence in itself, for Brother Everard often arrived there before him in the morning to see to it that all was made ready for his comfort—and his grandson making himself comfortable in Duncan's favorite chair. Duncan Michael looked up as his grandsire entered, flashing Duncan a huge grin. "Want to see what I can do, Papa Duncan?"

Duncan took another seat facing the boy. "Sure. Does it involve handfire?"

The little lad looked slightly crestfallen. "How'd you guess?"

The bishop chuckled. "Seems to be a lot of that going around this morning. So. Let's see what you've got up your sleeve, so to speak."

"Arms!" crowed Duncan Michael, showing them off, and got an eyeroll for his pains. The boy giggled.

"What else besides your arms, Master Smart-Pants?"

In answer, Duncan Michael created a small glowing golden orb and sent it circling above his head. "See, Papa Duncan? I have a halo."

Duncan snorted in amusement. "Appearances are most definitely deceiving," he observed. He leaned forward slightly in his chair. "All right, then, let's see if you can do this." The bishop flared his aura, light emanating briefly around him, bathing his body and framing his face in a silver glow.

The boy's eyes widened. "You look just like those pictures of Saint Michael! Well, except that you don't _really_ look like him. Your hair's all wrong."

"No, Saint Michael looks more like Duke Alaric," Duncan joked, allowing the aura to dissipate. "Tall, fair, and too handsome for his own good."

"I heard that," said a voice behind him.

Duncan turned towards the doorway to smile at his cousin. "Good, you were meant to." He gave his grandson a meaningful look, and the boy jumped up from his borrowed chair, offering it politely to the newcomer. Alaric Morgan thanked him and took his seat, stretching his long legs comfortably before him. "So," the Duke asked, "what's with all the light shows this morning?"

"I...um...seem to have started a trend somehow," Duncan admitted, sounding a bit sheepish.

"No, really?" Alaric said dryly. "I don't suppose it had anything to do with a certain display of handfire artistry on the tower rooftop last night, did it?"

"It might have caught on from that," Duncan admitted. "Since I doubt you heard about that all the way from Coroth, what brings you back to Rhemuth so early?" To Duncan Michael he added, "You have a class starting in a few minutes, don't you?"

"Yes, m'lord." His grandson gave a proper bow, as befitted his page training. The effect was partially spoiled by his sidelong glance at Duke Alaric, followed by a suppressed grin.

Alaric, guessing what was running through the boy's head, gave him a conspiratorial wink. "I can't help looking like Saint Michael. I was born on his feast day."

The lad's eyes widened. "You were too? So was I!"

The Duke chuckled. "Yes, I know." He glanced at the boy's grandfather and smiled.

"Run along, lad," Duncan told his grandson. "You mustn't leave Magistra Sophie waiting."

Duncan Michael left. Alaric turned his attention back to his cousin. "To answer your earlier question, doesn't Master Janos resume his Healer classes later this evening? I usually return to Rhemuth for those, when Ducal business will permit."

Duncan looked momentarily startled, consulted his mental calendar. "You're right, he does. Thanks for reminding me; I'd nearly forgotten about it."

Alaric studied the tips of his boots, a glint in his gray eyes. "Scuttlebutt has it that you're adding some sort of handfire display class to the Schola curriculum."

"I am? That's news to me!" Duncan shook his head. "Where'd you hear that rumor?"

"That's what I gathered from your students' random speculations as I walked through the Basilica compound earlier this morning. From their point of view, I suppose it makes sense. Why else would their rector have been engaging in a light show with one of the Schola magistri up on the Tower last night?" Alaric arched a blond brow at his cousin.

Duncan muttered something under his breath as he walked over to shut the study door. He heard his cousin chuckle as he returned to his seat.

"Sorry, didn't catch that last bit."

"You weren't really meant to. It was a fervent and rather fluent, albeit brief, discourse on hell and damnation in a purely non-theological context." Duncan sighed. "Please tell me that's the only gossip going around this morning."

Alaric shrugged. "That's all the gossip _I've_ heard on the subject. Of course, that's not to say it's the only gossip out there. Hell's bells, cousin, have you lost your ever-loving mind? On the bloody _rooftop?!_ Do you _want_ all of Rhemuth to think their Auxiliary Bishop has a paramour?"

"No, I was rather hoping all of Rhemuth would figure out that their Auxiliary Bishop does _not_ have a paramour, as evidenced by the fact that we were standing up there in full sight of God and everybody rather than stealing off to...Jesú, any number of hideaways randy couples tend to steal off to around here. The castle's lousy with them! _You'd_ probably remember far better than I would." Duncan shook his head, heaving a sigh. "All right, perhaps I overdid the display just a bit."

"Perhaps just a tad." Alaric held his thumb and forefinger close together as if to take careful measure, then swiftly spread his arms out to either side. "Like by _this_ much."

The rector sighed. "I suppose I'd better find some logical reason for the magistri to fit the topic into a class lesson or two then, though I can't think of any useful purpose for it. Not unless any of our scholars should want to fall back on Deryni circus tricks as a last recourse to earn their livelihood."

Alaric shrugged. "The reconstructed lost art of ancient Airsid signal flares, perhaps? Handfire signals sent up from the mountaintops of ancient Rûm and their Deryni watch towers?" A quirk of his lips underscored the jest. The Duke rose from his seat. "Well, I have a few other stops I need to make while I'm here in Rhemuth, but I'll be back sometime before the Healer class this evening." He laid a sympathetic hand on his cousin's shoulder. "You know, Mind-Speech works just as well as a rooftop for a private conversation. And Sister Helena _is_ Deryni. I'm sure you two can work out how to be a little more discreet."

"I know." Duncan stifled his annoyance, not entirely sure if the feeling was directed towards his cousin or himself. "But this conversation was of the sort that really needed to happen in person."

"Why, so you could see how she was taking it by reading her expressions and body language?" Alaric thumped his cousin lightly on the head as he walked past him. "You can do pretty much the same thing even at some distance, at least once you've shared a deep enough level of rapport."

Duncan gave him a skeptical look. "What, decrease the appearance of intimacy by _increasing_ our actual intimacy, when I'm already having a struggle with myself trying _not_ to do that? If there's any logic to that idea, I'm afraid it's escaped me."

Alaric paused at the door. "You're already intimate with her, like it or not. I agree you both need to avoid venturing into any physical expression of that, given your priestly vows. But at this point, I'm not sure a mind link is going to make the situation any worse for you." He turned back to Duncan with a wry grin. "At least that's what I kept telling myself that first time I entered into rapport with Richenda."

"You ended up married to Richenda," Duncan reminded him. "I can't exactly offer Helena that option."

"Yes, I know." Alaric's grin faded. "But at the time, Richenda was still married to Bran. I still had no inkling if it would all turn out right in the end. Not sure if it was an act of stupidity or a leap of faith, bonding with her in that way under the circumstances. Might have been a completely wrong-headed thing to do, even though it led to a good outcome in the end. I just know I wasn't complete until that moment." He paused, considering his next words. "You're under vows not to marry. It's true that places certain limits on how you can and can't honorably express your love for a woman. Fortunately love, or even full-on intimacy, isn't about marriage, or even about sex, though don't get me wrong, that last option is a hell of a lot of fun and I'm glad the vows _I_ took actually _require_ me to share my bed with my woman!" Alaric grinned again briefly. "Here's the point, though. I don't recall you ever taking vows to remain half of yourself for life. If you've found someone who makes you feel fully alive and whole inside, who completes you, and she happens to feel the same way about you, then I'd say you're already sharing more with Helena than many married couples ever have. So maybe it's time to stop focusing on what you _can't_ offer her, and start carefully considering what you can. Might be something worth thinking about while you're modifying those lesson plans." He gave a wistful shrug, laid his hand on the door handle. "I know you'll figure your own way through in time, Duncan, even if your story needs to follow a different course than mine. Just remember you're a damn bishop now! Be a bit more careful in the public eye, that's all. Archbishop Cardiel doesn't need you adding anything extra to his already noteworthy collection of white hairs."

#

 _St. Camber's Schola Infirmary  
September 6, 1136—early evening_

Master Janos presented a carved model of a human heart to his assembled Healers-in-training, holding it up between his thumb and forefinger and slowly rotating it so they could see it from all angles. "I am sure that you are all aware of how easy it is for a Deryni to use his powers to take a life by stopping an enemy's heart, at least in theory, though Jesú forfend you should ever have to defend yourself in such a way in actual practice."

"I thought Healers weren't supposed to use their powers to harm anyone at all, Magister Janos," Briony commented innocently. "At least not deliberately."

The Healer Master smiled a trifle wistfully. "Ideally, we're not, especially those of us who have taken the oath to follow the Healer's vocation. But there are exceptions to nearly every rule, including that one." His gaze flitted to Briony's father's face, who returned the look with his own steady regard. "A knight in the King's service, for instance, may not always have the luxury of 'doing no harm' when facing a mortal enemy in combat, or even when off the battle field, under certain circumstances. I believe His Grace your father could attest to that. Of course, most combatants would fight with more conventional weapons, as do Deryni as well under most circumstances, but a Deryni might well be called upon to use any or all of his gifts in some lethal manner in his King's service."

Alaric nodded, and his daughter dropped her gaze, blushing. "You're right, of course," she murmured. "I hadn't thought it through fully enough."

"It's better to have given the ethics behind our gift some degree of thought than none at all, Lady Briony. And the observation was a fair one. Fortunately, our purpose this evening is not to discuss the taking of lives, but the reviving of them. What is less well known among Deryni is that a very similar action to that which stops a beating heart can sometimes be used to restart one which has ceased to function on its own, at least if this action is performed quickly enough and under the right circumstances..."

Half of Duncan's mind registered the Healer Master's lecture, but he'd heard it before, back when he'd gone through his preparatory training as the newly assigned rector of the fledgling Schola. Now a part of his attention drifted to the woman seated next to Briony. Helena sat listening intently, taking occasional notes on her wax tablet. As if feeling his gaze on her, she glanced up briefly, meeting his eyes. He gave her a slight smile and returned his attention to Janos's discussion.

"There is an art to massaging the heart muscle in such a way as to revive it without causing further damage..."

Helena stifled a yawn, although judging by her avid attention to the lecture, it was hardly due to boredom. Duncan spared her another glance between his note taking, noting faint shadows under her eyes. He frowned in concern, sending a tightly focused tendril of thought her way, seeking a link. She glanced his way in surprise, allowing the mental contact. _You look tired. Did you not sleep well?_ he Mind-Spoke.

She averted her eyes to her wax tablet, jotting down a few words while chewing on her lower lip, looking as if she was desperately struggling not to laugh. _Hardly a wink, I'm afraid. You gave me rather a lot to think about last night. Thank God for fatigue-banishing spells, or I might have fallen asleep in my own classes!_ After a few moments, she glanced up, though at Master Janos rather than him. _I'll bet_ you _slept like the proverbial baby._ She somehow managed to sound half amused, half accusing in Duncan's mind.

 _I did. For the first night in quite some time, I felt like a great weight had rolled off me. There's something very freeing about not feeling bound by a secret anymore._

She did glance at him then, understanding and silent agreement in her eyes. _We still need to be circumspect. There are a lot of folk who wouldn't understand our relationship, who might even assume the worst._ She turned her attention back to the lecture, though she spared enough concentration from it to send another message through their link. _About those ground rules you mentioned last night, can one of them be 'Thou shalt not distract Helena while she is attempting to take lecture notes?'_ Her eyes shone with suppressed mirth.

He sent her a burst of silent laughter. _I'll make a special note. And you're quite right about those others. Alaric gave me a bit of a dressing down earlier this morning. No, not about us,_ he assured her as a faintly alarmed look dawned in her eyes and he could sense her struggling not to turn towards him. _About my impromptu lightshow and our need to be more discreet. He was afraid my attempt to make our private meeting last night come across as completely innocuous might raise some people's suspicions more than it allays them._

 _Rather like standing under a giant sign that says 'Nothing happening here, move along now please' while looking altogether too innocent?_ Helena shot back, struggling not to laugh. _Duncan McLain, get out of my mind for the next hour,_ please _, before I have to dream up some lesson-related pretext for smacking you with this tablet!_

Duncan suppressed a chuckle, withdrawing from the link.

"All right, so now that you understand the underlying concept, let's see how the technique works in practice." Master Janos glanced back at his apprentice, who walked forward with a large, lidded crate, placing it on the table before him. The Master Healer opened the lid to reveal a tame monkey, who hopped out and studied the group of people gathered around.

Briony grinned. "Oh, he's so cute!" She turned delighted eyes towards her father.

Alaric smiled back, saying only half in jest, "No, you can't have one."

Master Janos chuckled as he reached into his bag to draw out a stoppered bottle and a bowl. He poured the contents of the bottle into the bowl as the monkey watched, beginning to bob excitedly, though the apprentice restrained him gently by the collar. "Believe me, Lady Briony, you don't want one of these. They're even more of a pain than little brothers, and they get into twice as much trouble." He flashed a grin at her.

She laughed, blushing slightly. "You must not have met _my_ little brothers, then, if you think _that,_ " she joked back, glancing at Alaric, who shook his head sadly, smothering a wry smile. Briony watched with interest as the Healer gloved up before pulling another, much smaller, vial out of the bag. Janos opened it and carefully doled out one tiny drop of its contents into the bowl. "What are you mixing, Magister Janos?"

He looked back at her briefly as he returned the small vial to his bag. "The first bottle contained nothing more than fresh water. The drop I just added to it is a syrup made from boiling a measure of sugar in an equal measure of a mortweed tisane."

"Mortweed?" Duke Dhugal looked startled. "Aye, that should do the trick. It's a very low concentration, surely?"

The Healer nodded. "Low enough, at least at that dilution."

The maiden looked baffled at first, then as she stopped to consider their exchange and also the evening's topic of discussion, realization set in. "Oh, Master Janos, we're not going to kill the poor creature, are we?"

He shook his head, giving her a reassuring smile. "Only temporarily. And just this once. I prefer not to demonstrate this sort of thing on live creatures, but sometimes there's just no better way to teach certain techniques. Practicing on a dead heart procured from a butcher's stall isn't quite the same." He reached into his pouch, producing a treat for the monkey, who grabbed it from him eagerly, chattering back at him before washing it in the bowl. "Bodi is used to getting treats. He's served as one of my King's food testers, you see. Normally it's a nice job for a little monkey, but it can have a hazardous side."

He watched with professional detachment as the monkey bit into the moist piece of fruit, reaching a steadying hand across the table to touch the girl lightly on the arm as she gripped the table's edge, looking on the verge of tears. "He'll be all right, you'll see. It was a very small amount, not enough to do him permanent damage since we'll be on hand to reverse its effects in time."

Duncan watched as the simian began to stagger about, stumbling closer to the table's edge, and he extended a hand to stop it from falling over. He'd seen this demonstration once before, in that first year after he'd become rector over the Schola, when he and Alaric had first begun to catch up on the years of training they'd missed in their youth due to their half-Deryni heritage. He liked it no more now than he had then, and felt more than a twinge of sympathy for the poor beast, not to mention for his innocent young cousin who was watching this sort of display for the first time, though he could hardly imagine how else Janos might convey the knowledge that needed to be learned from the demonstration.

The monkey collapsed, and Master Janos swiftly laid a practiced hand over the animal's chest, checking for a heartbeat. His fingers moved briefly over its muzzle as he assured himself that the creature had stopped breathing. "And now the Healer must act swiftly. If the patient must do without air and a beating heart for too long, the damage will be irreparable, even if the heart is restarted." He looked around the room, commanding everyone's attention. "Link your minds to mine, and note carefully what I do as I revive him. As I said to you earlier, I will only do this once."

They complied, and Janos focused on Bodi's limp body, concentrating his energies and visualizing what he was about to do. He reached his hand out and gave a series of slight squeezes, only subtly different from the one customarily used to stop a heart, saying a word in quietly spoken Torenthi.

The tiny body twitched, and after a moment the monkey gave a quick intake of breath, the small chest beginning to rise and fall. Master Janos placed his fingertips lightly on the animal's chest and, after a few moments, nodded.

"His pulse is a little slow and weak, but that's to be expected." He glanced up at Alaric. "Would you monitor him while I administer an antidote, Your Grace?"

Alaric nodded. Dhugal perked up with interest. "There's an antidote to mortweed?"

Janos, rummaging in his bag again, shook his head. "For a full strength dose, no. At this weak a concentration, there are potions that will help to counteract its side effects, assuming you can keep the patient alive long enough to administer one. Ah, here it is." He pulled out another vial, dribbling a small amount of its contents onto a small sponge before holding it first under the monkey's nostrils, then squeezing a tiny amount of the liquid between its lips. He waited another minute or two, his students watching silently along with him, before glancing up at Alaric. "And how is our patient faring now?"

Alaric met his gaze. "His pulse is getting stronger and more regular. His breathing is easier as well."

"Yes." Master Janos turned to Briony. "See? He'll be fine once he wakes up, though that might not be for a few hours. And as he's retired from King Liam-Lajos's service now, he'll be returning to a happy life of siring more little food tasters." He stroked Bodi's head absently as he returned antidote and sponge to his kit.

"And what was in the antidote?" Sister Therese asked, the infirmarian's curiosity piqued.

"It is a compound brewed from mulberry leaves and kingsroot, with a few drops of tincture of foxglove added, the latter in medicinal quantities only, of course. I can jot down the exact proportions for you before I leave, though I was planning on discussing that more fully when we get to the class about poisons and antidotes later in the term."

"What was the word you spoke as you did the reviving spell?" Helena asked. "And what does it mean?"

Master Janos chuckled. "I just said 'resume' in Torenthi. The exact word isn't important. It's the visualization and focus, not to mention the intent, that counts. As you saw earlier, I pictured the heart restarting in my mind, matched action to intent, and willed it to happen. The spoken word merely states and reinforces the Healer's intent." He finished securing his kit, motioning to his apprentice to retrieve their simian patient. "I'm afraid personal business calls me back to Torenth earlier than usual this evening, but I can linger long enough for a few questions if there are any, or we can begin our next class with a longer question and answer session before launching into our next lesson, which will be about treating various ailments of the heart. Also, there is a chance I might not be here next week, but if I need to postpone that class, I'll send you word."

"But the term just started!" Briony said in mild protest. "I hope everything is all right?"

Master Janos smiled at the young maiden. "Quite all right, my lady. It is just that my lady wife is due to present me with our second child any day now, and if I miss our son's birth, _I_ shall be the one in need of an antidote from my pharmacopoeia!" He glanced at Alaric, who chuckled appreciatively. " _You_ know how it is with a laboring wife, I am certain, Your Grace."

"Indeed I do," Alaric Morgan affirmed.

Helena, taking notice of Briony's stricken look, felt a twinge of silent sympathy for the lass. Doubtless the girl would soon recover from her first case of calf love and would possibly experience several such attachments before ending up—God willing—happily wed to a husband worthy of her tender affections, but the tumultuous emotions of youth were no less painful for all their transitory nature. Fortunately, the men in the room all seemed oblivious to the girl's distress, and if Sister Therese had picked up on it, at least she was too discreet to add to Briony's mortification by making any comment.

Duncan turned towards Helena with a questioning look, then turned to Master Janos. "Sister Helena was called upon recently to treat an eye injury. She showed me afterward what she did, and as far as I could tell she handled the case very well, but I suspect she'd prefer a more experienced Healer's opinion on the matter."

The magistra blushed. She'd intended to bring up the question with Master Janos later, but it could have waited for another evening when the Torenthi Healer was not in such a hurry to return home. Janos turned an interested eye towards her, though, and gave her an inviting smile. "Did you really? I should like to see your memory of that myself; perhaps if you are free for the next few minutes, we can discuss the case on our walk back to the Library Annex?"

"My time is free, if you aren't in too much of a hurry to get back. If you are, my lord, it can wait for another time."

"I am quite certain the walk back to Rhemuth Castle will provide ample opportunity for us to discuss the matter," Master Janos assured her.


	19. Part II--Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

 _Rhemuth Castle  
September 6, 1136—late evening_

"Didn't I tell you you'd done everything properly?" Duncan teased Helena after Master Janos took his leave of them, stepping onto the Transfer Portal with his apprentice and returning to the Torenthi Court. "But of course you wouldn't take it from _me_."

"Of course not," Helena replied with a smile. "You've not had much more experience with eye injuries than I have, for all that you've used your Healing powers for far longer. It was a relief to hear Master Janos confirm that that I did well, though. I'll have to send word back to Da and Hal that the clouded vision is merely a temporary setback." She glanced at the entrance to the main Library. "Do you suppose Father John is up this late?"

Duncan considered the question. "Awake? Most likely. In the Library?" He cast his senses to the room beyond the Annex's secret entrance. "No," he said after a moment, "I don't feel him nearby. I had sent him word earlier on that I'd walk Master Janos back to the Annex tonight, so he might have decided to leave a little early and steal away to his room for a private hour or two spent poring over one of those ancient Gabrilite texts that Brother Everard finished copying for him last week."

Helena glanced at him, a delighted smile on her face. "A fresh copy? Will it be available for public viewing soon?"

The rector laughed. "I should never have told you. Now I'll have to compete with some long dead Gabrilite for your free moments." He glanced back over his shoulder at the Transfer Portal stone. "As much as I'd prefer to just spend the next hour or two here alone with you, I suppose we should head back towards the Basilica. We _could_ just Portal back, of course, though it's a nice enough night to walk back the way we came. Or we could take the hidden passage back, though I can understand if you'd prefer not to."

"Is there some reason Master Janos doesn't use the Transfer Portal in your study?" Helena asked. "It would be more convenient."

Duncan nodded. "It would. But this Portal is more secure, not to mention it's already known to King Liam-Lajos and Count Matyás. Kelson would rather not give the Torenthi Court any more Portal locations within the Castle perimeter, even if we _do_ happen to be allied with the current regime. There's no way to speak for the next generation or the one after, and the Annex Portal has better protections built into it." He shrugged. "Kelson and I have briefly discussed the possibility of creating an additional Portal someplace in the City that's convenient to the southern gatehouse, if the Schola should grow enough to warrant having an additional Portal nearby for students needing the convenience. That would allow for Portal travel in a location that doesn't compromise the castle's security or require people to pop into the Cathedral sacristy unexpectedly at odd moments—Archbishop Cardiel would hardly thank us for _that!_ "

Helena pondered the idea. "Would it be a private Portal, with the location shared only with our scholars and their families, or would it be made available for public use?"

Duncan leaned back against a bookshelf, chuckling. "I have no idea, sweeting. You're thinking a lot further ahead than either of us did. It was a very brief conversation, and the subject was barely touched upon." He paused, considering both options. "I would imagine Kelson would want to keep it private at first. Perhaps later, once we're certain that anti-Deryni sentiment has died down enough to prevent any sort of uproar from the public over a more openly-used Portal, he might consider making it available for more general use. The Privy Council might want to have a say in the matter as well, if things ever reach the point where that option's on the table for consideration." He straightened, offering her his arm to lead her back through the Annex entrance and into the main library. "Shall we stroll back through the gardens and parklands, then?"

Helena took his arm, feeling a warm glow from his earlier casual endearment, though she shook her head at the question. "Actually, if you don't mind, let's go back by way of the wall passage." At his surprised look, she added, "I know what to expect this time, and I'll keep well shielded when we pass _that_ point of the passage."

"All right. I suppose that route is less likely to draw unwanted attention as well." Duncan extended his shields to envelop Helena as well, leading her through the barrier between Annex and Royal Library. As they walked past the curtained garderobe in its niche and emerged in the main Library, Helena stifled a laugh.

"It's probably just as well John's locked up the Library for the night. Imagine what some late-night book browser might think of us both leaving a garderobe together!"

Duncan grinned. "I don't need to imagine; that's how Sophie discovered the Annex, only on that occasion it was me, John, and the King all walking out from behind the curtain! " He sent her a brief image of Sophie's astonished face, causing Helena to clap her free hand over her mouth to hold back a burst of laughter. "Thank God it _was_ Sophie; I can't imagine what sort of cover story we'd have had to come up with on the spot otherwise!" He selected the Library key from the ring he carried and unlocked the outer door, allowing Helena into the corridor and following her out before turning to lock it again.

 _You could do that with your powers just as easily,_ Helena Mind-Spoke as she watched him secure the chamber.

 _I could, but if someone were to round the corner just at that moment, locking the door with a key wouldn't attract undue notice. People tend to assume the worst of one's intentions if they see powers they don't understand being used casually._ Here in the main part of the Castle, the two kept a discreet distance apart as they walked down the corridor towards the nearest hidden entrance to the secret passageway leading beyond the royal apartments and through the Castle's curtain wall to its far exit at the Basilica's courtyard.

At the end of the corridor, Duncan glanced around briefly to ensure no one else was in sight. After assuring himself of their privacy, he sketched a glyph in the air, and a section of wall slid to one side just enough to admit them entry. Helena entered before him, taking a few tentative steps into the dark passage before cupping her hand and creating handfire. The secret door silently slid back into its original position once Duncan stepped through.

Duncan created handfire of his own once the door had closed, sending it drifting slowly down the corridor just ahead of them to light their way forward. "Curious about the hidden passageways, are you? Or did you just wish to avoid prying eyes?" he asked once they were assured of their privacy again.

Her cheeks turned pink in the pale silvery light of his handfire. She doused her own, finding it redundant now that he'd sent his glowing orb forward to illuminate the passageway for them both. "A little of both, actually." She glanced around at their surroundings. "Sometime when I'm not ready to drop dead from exhaustion, I'd love to explore them more. Sophie said she's mapped all the secret access corridors."

"Not all, but most, yes." Duncan's smile grew at Helena's surprised look. "She may have missed one or two; a few access points and side-passages are very well warded. Kelson doesn't want _all_ his secrets known, even among those of us he knows and trusts." He began to lead the way down the narrow passage, taking Helena's hand once they reached a slippery patch of stone. "We're coming close to the stairs, so mind your step."

Helena did so, tightening her shields as well, for they were swiftly approaching the area where Tiercel had once met his unexpected end, and she had begun to pick up some resonances of those energies as they drew closer to it. She spent the next couple of minutes focusing on keeping her mind off the Deryni teacher's death and firmly on keeping her footing as she negotiated the curved staircase, breathing a lot more easily once they were on level ground again and several yards beyond the spot where Tiercel's body had lain after Prince Conall's unexpected betrayal of his tutor in the magical arts. She tentatively relaxed her shields again, and sensing that they had passed the worst of the lingering taint, sent a tentative mental probe Duncan's way.

He smiled back, his own shields relaxing to allow a light link to form between them, allowing each other access to surface-level emotions and thoughts.

"I hope the dressing down that you mentioned His Grace giving you this morning wasn't too severe?" Helena said quietly.

Duncan shrugged. "Not unduly so." He shared his memory of Alaric's private conversation with him in his study earlier that day, leaving out only the parts of it in which Alaric alluded to having bonded with Richenda while she was still married to Bran Coris, which Duncan assumed his cousin had meant him to keep in strictest confidence even though that revelation hadn't been shared under the seal of the confessional.

Helena stopped briefly, staring at him in surprise. "Do you agree with him? About..." She fought down a blush. "About us sharing a deeper level of rapport, I mean. Is that...do you want that?"

He gave her a wistful smile. "I've hardly had any time since then to give the matter any serious thought, to be honest." He leaned against one of the stone walls, studying her. "I suspect it might be a little premature, though, sharing rapport at that deep a level. After all, I'm still working on trying to get past the idea that I can have feelings for a woman without..."

"Without worrying about something happening to her?" Helena questioned softly.

He gave her a startled look. "Well, actually I was thinking more along the lines of lightning striking me dead, and more by way of a jest than any serious fears of that actually happening. But I could hardly blame you if you're worried about what might happen to you if our relationship grows any closer, given my history. _Are_ you?"

Helena shook her head. "No, not really. I suppose if I had any intention of trying to steal you from God's service or tempting you into forsaking your vows, I might have cause for more concern, but I haven't." She looked up at him. "You're not worried that you caused your wife's death by turning aside from your vocation in order to marry her, are you?"

Duncan took her hand in his again, stroking the back of it lightly with his thumb as he frowned slightly, briefly lost in thought. "Not anymore. I did wonder for quite a long while, though, when I was younger, even though it wasn't a deliberate turning aside from my calling. At the time, I was far less certain about it than I am now, and my vows weren't final."

"I thought not." Her blue eyes locked with his. "Though later, once you _did_ enter holy orders, you were less free in your options, yet you still found enough room in your life to allow another woman into it. Were you in love with your _anamchara_ , or was that never more than a close friendship?"

"Jesú, you're direct, sweeting!" Duncan glanced away, searching for the best way to explain that complex relationship. Words seemed inadequate to the task. At last he ventured, "It was more than friendship between us, but as to whether or not it was love...well, yes, I suppose it _was_ love, though I wasn't exactly _in_ love with her. There was a bit of attraction earlier on, when my heart was still trying to make sense of what I felt for her. But I wasn't in love with her in the same way that I was once in love with Maryse, at any rate, if that makes sense. It's like..." He cast about for the proper words to express his thoughts again. "I love my son with all of my heart, as I once loved his mother. I also loved Catriona that fully, as I love my grandson by her now, but I loved her—and Duncan Michael—in a far different way from my love for either Dhugal or Maryse. And Sophie Arilan, as you once noted, I love as the daughter I never had the chance to sire. Every love is different for me, including mine for you." He brought her hand up to lay a tender kiss upon her fingertips. "And of course, above all of those other, earthly loves is the first and foremost One I've vowed to serve."

"Yes." Helena glanced at their clasped hands. "I won't prove a detriment to that, I hope?"

"No. An occasional distraction, perhaps, while we work out proper boundaries. I'm still a man despite also being a priest, after all, and the natural instincts of both don't always peacefully coincide. It's possible I might make a misstep along the way from time to time, though hopefully without wandering off the right path altogether." He grinned. "It _does_ help that you're not hell-bent on luring me off that path completely and having your wicked way with me."

She averted her eyes, though he sensed her silent laughter through the shallow link between them. "I suppose I should send my new Nur Hallaji dancing costumes straight back to the merchant, then?" she joked.

Duncan laughed out loud, not bothering to hide his amusement here in the privacy of the secret passage. "Jesú, Elen my heart, don't even joke about that! You have no idea what sort of dreams I'm likely to be plagued with tonight if I get _that_ image set in my head, and I'm officiating the early Mass tomorrow morning." He shook his head with a wry grin. "Believe me, _a_ _chuisle_ , you've nearly stopped my heart often enough even in your simple gray woolen robes and bleached linen."

They continued on, negotiating the steep set of stairs near the end of the passageway until they reached the bottom. Duncan reached out to touch the stud that activated the doorway on that end, but stopped, extending his senses beyond it to see if anyone else was nearby. He glanced back at Helena. "Are you heading back to your chamber now?"

"Yes. Aren't you?"

A mischievous twinkle lurked in his eyes as he answered, "Heading to your chamber? No. I imagine Sister Therese would toss me out on my ear if I did."

Helena laughed. "She'd be more likely to drag you inside and throw nubile young maidens at you in hopes you'll breed more Healers for the Kingdom, but I meant aren't you heading back to _yours_?"

He shook his head. "I need to stop by my study first. But it's probably better that we part ways here. Shall I see you at Mass tomorrow?"

She gave him a pained look. "The _early_ Mass? Duncan, I'm exhausted! After the fatigue-banishing spell I needed to get through Master Janos's lesson tonight, I think I'm going to need to lie in tomorrow morning and catch Father Shandon's Mass instead."

He chuckled. "Later in the morning, then. Or sometime in the afternoon, if you prefer, Mistress Slug-abed." He dodged the playful swat she directed at him, casting his senses outward once more before pressing the door stud. They stepped out together into the cool starry night.

#

 _Rhemuth Castle—Royal Chapel  
September 7, 1136_

Lady Ædwige surreptitiously peeked through her sheer black veil at the handsome young Earl across the chapel aisle from her, his red-gold hair reverently bowed as Father John led his congregants in prayer. Lady Briony had invited Ædwige to join her in attending Mass in the Royal Chapel that morning with Queen Araxie's other ladies-in-waiting, as the Queen had graciously consented to young Briony extending an invitation to her newly-returned friend to join their company during the morning's devotions, and Ædwige's heart had leaped at the chance to form new acquaintances within the Royal Court. Oh, she was quite fond of Briony herself as well, despite the few years that separated them in age, but it was quite handy that the girl happened to be a Duke's daughter. And not just any Duke's, but the King's Champion himself. No, Ædwige would probably have gone out of her way to cultivate Briony's friendship even if the girl weren't so likable, but fortunately spending time with the eldest Morgan daughter was no hardship.

Nor was gazing upon Briony's older stepbrother at all painful to her eyes, Ædwige reflected, keeping her thoughts discreetly hidden beneath adamantine shields. The prayer ended, and Earl Brendan looked up, not in her direction of course, but at Father John, paying heed to whatever the King's chaplain was nattering on about now. She'd lost track, merely going through the motions of the service by rote, far too distracted by the novelty of being invited to attend a Mass in the Royal Chapel among such highborn company to pay proper attention to the service.

She vaguely remembered that Sir Brendan been knighted the previous Twelfth Night and had come into his earldom at that time as well. She'd missed those festivities, of course; Papa had been tiresome enough to call her home to prepare for her marriage to Sir Gilrae before the Christmas Season had even ended. While everyone in Rhemuth had been celebrating the Twelfth Night festivities, she'd been en route back to Jenas, dissolving into tears at every stop along the way, although her sire had remained unmoved, damn his hide! "I know you're upset about having to leave your Schola, pet," he'd told her, "but you'll thank me for this someday. Sir Gilrae's an excellent catch—he'll leave you well provided for—and once you've given him a son or two, I'm sure he'll let you play at being a scholar again. He seems like an indulgent sort." Six months of marriage to Gilrae hadn't given Ædwige any greater appreciation of the old lecher than she'd had when they'd first wed, nor did she give a rat's arse about being any sort of scholar, but the waste of time she could have spent gaining more precious training in the use of her Deryni powers— _that_ had been most maddening of all. Though he had left her well enough off in the end, for a mere knight. She'd have enough dowry now to attract a better husband when she chose to. _If_ she chose to. She supposed she'd have to someday, even if the thought of letting another man paw at her like Gilrae had done filled her with shamed disgust.

She spared another peek at the handsome young Earl across the aisle. Perhaps, though, it might not be quite so bad with the right husband. She'd enjoyed kisses and caresses well enough after all, when she'd allowed herself to be lured into the dark corners of the cloister walk last summer by Lord Sivney, the Queen's younger half-brother. Now _that_ had been quite the adventure, sneaking off with Siv late at night after she was supposed to have been sound asleep in the dormitorium, using their powers to steal away under cover of darkness, whispering and stifling their laughter to avoid getting caught. And they hadn't been, although they'd come close to it once, and Sivney had had to stop just when things were about to get more interesting. She hadn't been certain what he'd been up to at the time, just that it had felt quite nice and that she'd wanted to learn more. She suspected, now that she'd experienced marriage, that she could make an educated guess at what he'd intended to try to sweet-talk her into that summer night. Surely it would have to be more pleasant with someone like Sivney or Brendan, though, wouldn't it? Else why would _any_ widow remarry, once she knew what the marital chore was all about?

Unless, of course, one's next husband were rich and titled enough. Ædwige supposed that could keep a woman well content enough to put up with all that nocturnal prodding and grunting, the mess and discomfort and embarrassment of it all. And maybe even _that_ act might be bearable enough with the right man. After all, Sir Gilrae's kisses had never given her that pleasurable flutter deep in her belly that Sivney's had, or that she imagined that Earl Brendan's would also, if _he_ ever kissed her. Just imagining his lips on hers made her heart pound faster!

Maybe she could make him want to offer for her. Wouldn't an Earl be a fine trophy to bring home to Eddington once her studies were completed? Though she supposed it wouldn't be to Eddington she'd be returning, but to Marley. Ædwige allowed herself to daydream about what it might be like to be the Countess of Marley. True, it was a devilish long way from the Court, but surely he had a Transfer Portal there by now, so she could return to Rhemuth whenever she liked. And she'd have Briony for a sister, too. Though Briony was soon approaching marriageable age herself, and there was no telling who the Duke of Corwyn intended to give her to, or whether she'd end up living nearby or somewhere clear across the Kingdom. Still, there'd be Christmas and Easter Courts to look forward to, assuming Briony's future husband allowed her to make regular visits to Rhemuth. Ædwige was certain Earl Brendan would be reasonable enough to allow _her_ to do so, especially once she discovered what entreaties and inducements would make him most amenable to wifely persuasion. She'd discovered Sir Gilrae's susceptibilities easily enough, after all. All she'd had to do was lie still for him while he worked at getting an heir, and murmur encouragements that sickened her now to think about, and he became as sweet and biddable as any woman could hope for the next day. She'd worked that to her advantage several times. It had gotten her a visit to Concaradine on market day, hadn't it?

Then again, Brendan Coris was still a mostly unknown factor in her plans. What if she couldn't catch his eye? She'd not have to work as hard to recapture Lord Sivney's interest, having caught his attention once already, and he _was_ the half-brother of a Queen and nephew to the Hort of Orsal, after all. Not such a bad catch, if one looked at him _that_ way, even if he was nothing more than a baron's heir. He'd have influence in two Royal Courts, and as his Baroness, so might she.

Earl Brendan was cuter, though, and he'd been so gallant two evenings ago when she'd gotten to know him better during those far too brief minutes in the Basilica courtyard. She'd seen him before, of course, and had known who he was, but that had been the first time she'd had an opportunity to actually carry on a conversation with the young man, and he'd been charming. She struggled not to laugh as one of the witty observations he'd shared that night popped into her mind again unbidden. He'd been there to escort Briony, of course, not to visit her, but he'd been as delightfully attentive to his sister's friend as he'd been diligently protective of young Briony. It was clear there was a great deal of affection between the two. She snuck another peek at him, frowning in thought. Would he mind that she was carrying another man's son? Or might he think that was a benefit? Maybe he'd actually prefer a wife who already knew what he was about the first time he bedded her. True, younger men usually sought out virgin brides, but perhaps there was some way she could turn her loss of innocence to her advantage. It's not as if she could somehow undo it after all. Her child by Gilrae would inherit Eddington, so it wasn't as if he'd be any threat to his own firstborn son's inheritance. No, if she set things up right, she could probably manage to convince him that she'd make a better bride for him than some untried little maiden. After all, he'd need an heir for Marley someday, and she was undeniably fertile. And if he balked at raising her late husband's heir, well, she could always send the boy and his nursemaid back to Eddington Manor once he was old enough to foster out. His uncle could see to his knightly training, and Martin Steward could teach him how to manage his inheritance well enough, probably even better than she could, when it came right down to it. He was used to handling all that tedious stuff.

Briony stood, glancing questioningly at Ædwige, and with a start the young widow realized it was time for the Blessed Sacrament. Did she dare partake of it with unconfessed sin on her conscience? Not that she felt particularly contrite, nor could she bring herself to feel that she'd really done much of anything wrong; certainly she'd done nothing but perhaps speed along something that was bound to happen anyway. But still, Father Lars, her father's chaplain, had spent countless hours expounding on the nearly endless list of sins he proclaimed as deserving of the hottest fires of Hell if not repented of straightaway, hoping to scare her into piety if he couldn't win her to faithful devotion in some gentler way, so she hesitated now, afraid. Meeting Briony's puzzled gaze, she mimed a distressed look, clapping a hand to her mouth as if suddenly feeling ill. It was only half a lie; in the uncertainty of that moment, her stomach had started to rebel, making her feel queasy.

Briony gave her a sympathetic smile, looking as if she wanted to say something, perhaps offer her assistance, but the lady seated on the other side of her moved into the aisle, genuflecting before heading towards the altar, and Briony followed suit behind her. Ædwige paused briefly to sketch a hasty genuflection towards the front of the chapel before rushing out of the chapel to lose her breakfast down the nearest garderobe shaft.


	20. Part II--Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

 _Rhemuth Castle Parklands  
September 25, 1136_

"Oh, _must_ you and Briony leave so soon, my lord? Why do you have to go, anyway?" Lady Ædwige pouted prettily up at her escort as they walked through the parklands between the castle apartments and St. Hilary's Basilica together. A slight breeze picked up, and she shivered. The young Earl accompanying her stopped, pausing long enough to remove the light cloak from his shoulders and drape it over hers. She beamed up at him, savoring not only its warmth, but the courtly gesture and the protective way he tucked the fabric around her, ensuring her comfort before continuing on their stroll.

"Duke Alaric's birthday is on Michaelmas, and our mother wants the whole family back in Coroth for the festivities, but we'll only be gone for a few days, my lady. Briony has her studies and Court duties to come back to, after all, though I'll only be able to stay here in Rhemuth for a few weeks longer once we get back. There are things I need to see to back home in Marley before I return in December for Christmas Court."

"Oh, but you _will_ return, won't you?" She averted her eyes demurely. "I do _so_ look forward to seeing what Twelfth Night is like here at Court this year. I missed it last year, you know." She gave Earl Brendan a tremulous smile. "And I'd been so hoping to see at least _one_ Twelfth Night feast and revel here in Rhemuth, too!" She glanced up at him as if suddenly remembering. "And you were knighted then, weren't you? Oh, I imagine the merrymaking afterward must have gone on for hours!"

Brendan chuckled at the memory. "It did at that, although I'm afraid I was a lot the worse for wear after. I don't quite remember how I got back to my own bed afterward. My brother Kelric probably had to pour me back into it."

She glanced back down at the walkway, stifling a giggle. "At least it was your own bed you woke up in the next morning and not someone else's!" Her cheeks warmed with a not entirely feigned blush as she sensed his surprised glance in her direction.

"Yes," he said after a momentary pause, "that could have been quite an interesting way to begin the next morning, and not necessarily a pleasant surprise either, given how much port I'd consumed the night before. What if, instead of finding myself with some lovely and biddable young lady, I'd found myself waking up to discover Lord Pemberly the chamberlain snoring in my ear?"

Ædwige's eyes widened at the thought, and she burst out in startled laughter. Brendan shot her a wicked grin, his cornflower blue eyes alight with good humor.

#

Brendan covertly studied the young widow beside him as they continued their walk from the Castle to the Basilica. Lady Ædwige seemed a study in contradictions at times. Her fair, delicate features and youthful, dainty form swathed in the black widow's weeds of mourning made her appear quite vulnerable, bringing out his protective instincts, and yet there was something about her occasional comment or fleeting expressions which seemed to belie her fragile and innocent appearance.

A breeze blew the filmy black veiling away from her face, and Ædwige paused briefly in her walk, lifting a hand to brush a stray tendril of pale golden hair back under it. There was a thin band of paler flesh on one finger, and Brendan surmised she had worn a ring on that hand until quite recently. Her wedding ring, perhaps? His sister Briony had told him that Ædwige's brief marriage had not been to a man of her own choosing. Social convention required that she at least make a token show of mourning her late husband's death, and for the most part, the young woman appeared to be doing so. But the absence of her ring so soon after her husband's death seemed a hint that the other tokens of grief were for show only; hardly a surprise, if the marriage truly had been forced upon her. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to be compelled to marry against one's wishes. Strongly _encouraged_ to wed, yes, that was easier for him to fathom; even at his young age, he'd already begun to feel some subtle pressure to find a suitable wife and produce an heir for Marley. But simply given over to someone who had been chosen for him without his own input in the matter? He was glad that his parents weren't the sort who were minded to be so heavy-handed in the matter of arranging their children's futures.

The lovely young widow appeared to have rearranged her veil to her satisfaction, and now she looked back up at him with a smile, sky-blue eyes peeking up shyly at him from beneath a fringe of lashes several shades darker than her hair. She really was pretty, this half girl, half woman who stood gazing up at him with a look in her eyes akin to hero worship. That trusting gaze brought out mixed feelings in him. On the one hand, he felt an urge to look after her that was very similar to the brotherly protectiveness he felt towards his sister. On the other hand...

Her soft rose-colored lips curved upwards at the corners, and he glanced away, reminding himself they were in full view of anyone who might be looking in their direction from either the Basilica or the castle. Damn, she looked kissable! She was, however, a Court lady to be treated with honor, not as if she were some mere strumpet eager enough to share her favors in exchange for a few coins or a trinket. Not that even the most innocent of Court ladies didn't enjoy a bit of flirtation with a young knight now and again, but he didn't want to lead Lady Ædwige into thinking that he meant to court her, at least not seriously. After all, at nineteen he was hardly ready to settle down with a wife just yet, not while he was still getting used to his new responsibilities as a knight of the realm and Earl of Marley. Not that he wanted to wait until he was old to marry either, but surely a bride and heirs could wait until he'd reached his mid-twenties at least.

The path began to slope downward as they reached the periphery of the Basilica grounds. Brendan extended a hand to assist Lady Ædwige down the steeper part of the walk. Her fingers trembled slightly in his light grip, and when he glanced at her face, her cheeks bloomed a becoming shade of rose. He pretended not to notice, suppressing a smile. He was flattered by her response, and a part of him wanted to follow up on it, to play the pursuer and see where the flirtation might lead, but given that he really wasn't minded to seek out a serious relationship just yet, that hardly seemed a fair game to play with a lady's affections unless the lady sought nothing more than a casual flirtation as well. Brendan hardly knew her well enough yet to know just what it was Lady Ædwige hoped for from him. No, he'd do best to keep things friendly, but not so much as to encourage hopes he had no intention of following through on.

They reached the entryway to the Basilica grounds. Brendan lifted Lady Ædwige's hand, bowing over it and bestowing a courtly kiss just above her fingers. "I need to head back towards the Castle now—I've a meeting with the King this afternoon that I need to make ready for—but if I don't see you again before I leave for Coroth, I hope you have a pleasant Michaelmas."

#

 _Male scholars' dormitorium, Saint Camber's Schola  
September 27, 1136_

"Now _there's_ a tasty morsel I wouldn't mind having as a late night snack!" Sivney said quietly as he watched a young woman walk by under his window.

"Jesú, Siv, you make her sound like a haunch of meat rather than a maiden," Jemmy teased, rising from his padded stool to amble towards the window, mildly curious. "Which one do you have your sights on this week?" Spying the lass in question, he gave a low whistle. "Cass? Oh, have fun with that! Have a death wish, do you?"

Sivney smiled. "Oh, I don't know, I might be able to bring her around to the idea. I don't mind a bit of a challenge."

The younger lad frowned slightly, protective feelings towards the female scholar arising. Not that he wanted Cass himself—they weren't close in _that_ way, although he enjoyed her company and even thought she was pretty enough in her way—but he and the draper's daughter had forged a friendship in the time they'd been to the Schola together that was based on their shared experience of common birth. Very few of the scholars at St. Camber's were common-born. It was not that the rector or the King wished to keep its membership exclusive, but it was simply harder to attract students from lower-class families than from the nobility. Poorer families, even if their children were offered a means at the Schola by which they could earn their room and board and a small stipend for basic needs, often could not afford to send a child off to gain an education if he or she were old enough to be apprenticed out to learn a trade or sent into a service position that would bring in the necessary income to help maintain their families. Perhaps if their parents understood how scholarship and training in the Deryni arts might make it possible for their children to earn even greater livelihoods someday in noble or royal circles, they might be more willing to spare them. But even among those who understood such potential advantages, the memories still ran strong of an earlier time, not all that long ago, when practicing Deryni arts openly might lead to opprobrium, harsh penalties, or even death. No, despite the rector's willingness to accept new students from all walks of life, the simple fact remained that far more of the scholars here were noble or even royal-born than not. He and Cass had bonded over the mere fact of being two of the rare exceptions to the rule, and Jemmy felt vaguely guilty about standing up here in Sivney's window watching her walk by, evaluating her for the first time as an attractive young woman rather than simply as a comrade in shared common birth.

"I doubt you'll persuade her, Lord Sivney, and even if you did manage it somehow, you'd be doing her no favor," he said quietly. "Cass can't afford to buy herself a good marriage with a fat dowry if you ruin her. If her reputation's in tatters, so is her future, and what's more, she's smart enough to know that, so any attempt to cozy up to her is likely to get you shot down in flames. If you're lucky, they won't be _literal_ flames aimed at your randy crotch." He gave the older lad a wry grin. "What about someone else instead, my lord? Perhaps someone you wouldn't even mind being pressed into marrying if you ever get caught in your dalliances?" Jemmy's brown eyes swept over a group of young ladies returning from an afternoon stroll. "Who is that pretty brunette walking with your sister and Lady Briony? I don't think I've seen her before. Is she new to the Schola, or just visiting from Court?"

Sivney gave his friend a thoughtful frown, wondering why Jemmy had suddenly found it necessarily to stand on formality with him, despite them being alone together in the dormitorium and Jemmy having been on a first-name basis with him, at least in private, for over a year. "You mean that girl in red? Yes, she's newly arrived from the Hort of Orsal's Court, and I doubt Uncle Létald would thank me for seducing her. Especially since Aynbeth's my own first cousin." He smirked as Jemmy's expression changed from startled to a sheepish grin.

"All right, I suppose that's _one_ maiden whose virtue is safe around you," the former kitchen boy joked, hoping his friend's attention had been successfully diverted from Cass Draper, at least for the moment. At the very least, hopefully he'd bought enough time to warn Cass about her randy young admirer before Sivney could approach her.

Another young woman, this one dressed from head to toe in black, joined the small group of maidens walking through the courtyard, and they paused in their walk, apparently introducing the newcomer to their group to Sivney's cousin. Sivney peered intently at the black-clad woman's back. Something about her seemed familiar, from her figure and posture to the long plait of golden tresses gleaming beneath her filmy dark veil, although Sivney couldn't quite make out the features behind the sheer silk. "Who's the raven?" he asked Jemmy.

"That's Lady Ædwige," his friend informed him. "You remember her from last year's classes, surely? She's the one who had to leave during the Christmas holidays to get married."

The figure turned slightly, and this time Sivney caught a glimpse of her profile. He glanced at Jemmy in surprise. "That's Ædwige? She's widowed already?"

Jemmy nodded. "And back for the new term."

#

 _St. Hilary's Basilica refectory  
September 27-evening_

Cass Draper looked up at Jemmy Kitchener joined her on a bench and leaned close to whisper in her ear, "Watch out for Sivney; he's set his sights on you, so don't be surprised if he starts trying to pay court to you."

She turned to her friend, arching a raven brow at him in disbelief. "Baron Savile's son, Lord Sivney? Sivney Kishknock?" She laughed. "I think _not!_ Has he forgotten I'm just a draper's daughter? And my mother's not _that_ wealthy! I'd be lucky to attract even a knight errant."

"No, that's the problem, Cass. He's quite attracted, but it's not exactly marriage he's got in mind."

Cass snorted in derision. "No worries, Jem, he's not at all the sort I find even remotely interesting. And even if he were, I'd not be fool enough to let him seduce me."

"Didn't think you were, but I figured you'd prefer to be forewarned." He glanced at her, suddenly curious. "Who _is_ the sort you'd find interesting?"

She laughed. "Well, no one _here_ , Jemmy! You know I haven't a chance of finding a husband among _this_ rarefied lot."

He flushed slightly. "I didn't mean _that_ , exactly! I just meant...well...leaving marriage totally out of it, or even ranks and titles, if none of those things were even a consideration then surely there's got to be at least one or two people around here that you like well enough to find interesting?"

Cass gave him a wry smile. "People, or more specifically, men? And am I meant to count present company or not?"

Jemmy gave a short laugh. "Jesú, never mind. I wasn't angling around to a courtship, if that's what you're wondering. I'm years away from that yet, with _any_ lass."

She nodded matter-of-factly. "And you'll be looking higher than me at any rate, or you're more fool than you seem and your knight's wasting his time with you." Cass sighed, looking thoughtful. "All right, if you honestly want to know..." She glanced around the room as if seeking inspiration. "Prince Oswin von Horthy is all right, and knows a lot of amusing stories about his father's Court. Sure, he's a bit dim at times, but he's nice, and he's not the sort who's constantly chasing skirts. Of course, he's just eleven yet." Cass grinned. "Plenty of time for his brain to rot once his voice starts changing." She paused, continuing to look around the refectory. "I don't think he's here this week, but Earl Brendan is courteous and has a working brain, and unlike certain other highborn lords like your friend Sivney, he doesn't assume that just because a girl is common-born, she's loose with her favors or can be bought if his coin purse is fat enough. And neither does Prince Payne, though he's handsome and charming enough to make almost any girl reconsider whether being a royal mistress would be such a hard fate." She grinned. "Almost."

Jemmy raised an eyebrow at her, smirking slightly. "I doubt you'd make friends with his new Duchess that way."

"Well, it's a good thing for all three of us that I'm never going to find out, aye?" Cass retorted, her ice-blue eyes sparkling with merriment. "Oh, and there's this certain upstart squire and former kitchen boy I find rather amusing as well."

Jemmy stretched his legs out in front of him, studying his boot tops and struggling to hide a grin. "I can't imagine who that would be. Do they even let riffraff of that sort into an refined place like this?"

Cass shrugged. "I don't see why not. They let Lord Sivney stay, and if you're asking for _my_ honest opinion, he's even bigger riffraff than you."

The stifled grin turned into a muffled laugh. Cass started to give him a conspiratorial smile, but froze as two other scholars entered the refectory to take seats at two empty spaces a short distance higher up the hall from the end of the table where they sat. After a startled moment, her smile widened. "Are you certain Lord Sivney is still aiming for me, or might he have moved on to more certain game?"

Jemmy turned to see his friend the baron's heir, seated with his back angled away from them, assisting a young lady in selecting the choicest morsels from a server's platter and adding them to her trencher. The blonde gazed up at Sivney with a coy smile, accepting his gallantry as her rightful due. The young squire glanced back at Cass, who looked amused.

"Lady Ædwige is welcome to him," she whispered. "God knows he might even end up a better man for it, especially if they're ever caught together! I'm pretty sure that's who Ædwige was sneaking out of the dormitorium to be with late at night last summer. If Bishop Duncan were to find them in a compromising situation, he might well force Lord Sivney to choose between marriage to that spoiled rotten bitch or taking a vow to remain chaste until marriage if he wants to finish his education here at the Schola. And given _that_ choice, not to mention the embarrassment of having to explain to his half-sister the Queen why he's in danger of being booted out by the rector, I suspect that quickly finding some more suitable lady to settle down with might suddenly not seem like such a bad option to Lord Sivney's way of thinking!"

#

 _Abbot's Tower  
September 28, 1136—late night_

Ædwige lay awake in her bed on an upper floor of Abbot's Tower, feigning sleep. Nearby, Princess Rothana appeared to be sleeping soundly, but Ædwige had already risen from her bed once earlier that evening, attempting to move silently towards the door, only to be stopped in her tracks by the sound of Rothana rolling over, eyes still closed, but now facing her and only slumbering lightly. Ædwige hadn't wanted to chance being discovered trying to sneak out of their shared chamber, so just in case the princess was more awake than she appeared, she made a slight detour in her path, moving behind a screen to the close-stool it concealed. Not that she actually needed to use it, but she remained there standing in the shadows next to it for a few more minutes before daring to return to her bed.

She heard the Basilica clock ring the hour and groaned silently. No doubt Sivney would give up on her soon, if he hadn't already. She had forgotten, when she'd agreed to this assignation, that she was no longer sleeping in the maidens' dormitorium where most of the young ladies were willing to turn a blind eye to one of their friends sneaking out after hours in exchange for like favors. Sure, there were a few prudish sorts who could be counted upon to tell tales to the magistri or to Bishop McLain if they caught you at it, but fortunately most of those girls had been the sort to fall asleep soon after curfew, and they'd been heavy sleepers as well. Ædwige had grown to count on such luck, and had forgotten momentarily that her situation was far different now.

Perhaps, though, it was for the best that she was stuck up here. She didn't want Sivney to think she was overly eager for him, after all. He might lose interest in pursuing her if she did, and now that she knew what he was up to, she didn't intend to play _too_ easy to get. Oh, easy enough to keep his interest, but not so much so that he'd have his fill of her too soon. No, now that she understood what he was after, he'd have to offer her more than a few kisses to get _that_. She'd not settle for anything less than a ring on her finger and an exchange of wedding vows in exchange for _that_ , but as for all the rest...well, she was willing to do whatever else it might take to keep him hungry for her.

The problem was, how was she to keep Sivney's interest in her from waning, yet hold him off long enough for Brendan to court her, if he was ever going to, and also keep the two from finding out about each other's interest in her? Or would an open rivalry simply serve to make their courtships progress faster? She'd really rather have Brendan, if she could manage to captivate him, but if she couldn't, she certainly didn't want to lose this opportunity with Sivney. And at any rate, she couldn't pledge herself to either man until she was out of her mourning weeds anyway, so she'd need to figure out some way to keep one or both men dangling until at least springtime. Ædwige mused on the possibility of a betrothal announcement made at Easter Court. She'd have given birth by then, surely, and ought to be as slender as any virgin again by the time Easter came around, or at least a clever enough dressmaker could fool men's eyes into thinking her so. Wouldn't she look stunning decked out in a fine gown of Marley blue for the occasion? Or perhaps...oh, what _were_ Sivney's heraldic colors anyway? Hopefully nothing too ghastly. Gilrae's colors had been boring—stark black and white. Pure white had never suited her delicate coloring, and as for black, well, she was certainly wearing enough of that color now, wasn't she? After this six-month was at an end, she hoped never to see the color again in her wardrobe for the rest of her life! No, Lord Sivney's colors had better not be something equally plain, or no matter how pleasant his company was, she'd need to concentrate her efforts on Earl Brendan instead. Or at least find some other lord in need of a wife—some young, handsome, wealthy and titled lord who would fully appreciate her charms and maintain her in comfort, and who moved in the highest and best social circles. Not some mere backwater knight with some tumbledown manor who might hardly ever be called to Court, like Sir Gilrae had been. She could hardly fathom why her Papa had ever thought that old fool was worth wasting her beauty and youth on.

She frowned to herself in the darkness. There was something else she needed to take care of before she could partake in a nuptial Mass anyway, but she was afraid. Perhaps she should have taken care of the matter back in Concaradine, but Sister Helena had been in a hurry to return to the Schola so they wouldn't miss the start of the new term, and it certainly wasn't the sort of thing she could have seen to back at Eddington Manor! Well, surely she'd be able to get it out of the way here in Rhemuth. You could hardly walk through a city street here without tripping over some priest or monk, after all, not to mention the occasional bishop. And they _were_ sworn to secrecy, weren't they? She might have had trouble paying attention to her catechism when Father Lars went on and on about such things in her childhood, but she was certain of that much at least. And really, what she'd done had not been all _that_ much. So she might have to go through the bother of saying a lot of Paternosters in the next few months, or maybe fast on bread and water on certain days, she wasn't sure, but then it would all be behind her and she could get on with her life knowing she was assured of heavenly bliss again. And she probably ought to get it out of the way soon, as she'd had another invitation, this time from Lady Siany, to join her and Briony as well as some of the Queen's other young ladies-in-waiting on a hunt after early Mass on the Feast of St. Faustus in early October, provided the weather was favorable. She'd not had a chance to send to Eddington Manor for her darling Celestia, more's the pity, but she was still keen on going even if she had to use a horse borrowed from the Royal Stables, and she could hardly plead illness again to skip the Mass if she intended to join in on the hunt afterward.

No, she might as well get the stupid ordeal over with. Perhaps if she mentioned her unborn child, she might not even have to fast, for mightn't that be bad for her baby? Kneeling at a prie-dieu for hours was hardly her idea of fun, but it was better than spending months eating boring fare, she supposed, although at least boring meals would help her keep her figure trim. Maybe she'd lose her baby weight faster? To fast, or not to fast?

Ædwige was still pondering such necessary yet tedious matters when she fell fast asleep.

#

 _Rhemuth Castle—late evening  
October 2, 1136_

Lord Sivney suppressed a smile of anticipation as he waited for the approaching ladies to pass the portion of the Royal Gardens where he had carefully stationed himself according to the plan that he and Lady Ædwige had hastily come up with earlier that morning. As they drew closer, he stepped out of the shadow of a large tree and onto the walkway, heading towards the young women in the general direction of the castle's Great Hall. They appeared not to notice him at first, but then his cousin Aynbeth glanced in his direction, a sunny grin of recognition dawning as she spotted him.

"Good evening, Sivney!"

The other two ladies broke off their conversation to greet him then. Briony Morgan, her golden hair reflecting the glow of torch and moonlight, also smiled at him as they paused in their walk. The third lady was the one he was there to meet, though. Lady Ædwige caught his eye briefly before ducking her black-veiled head again in apparent distraction. "Oh, bother," she murmured absently.

"What's wrong?" Lady Briony asked, turning her attention back to her friend.

Ædwige made a show of checking her belt and pouch. "I think I left my gloves back at the library. I'd better go back for them before Father John locks it up for the night." She gave her friends an apologetic look.

"Oh. Well, we'll go back with you," Aynbeth told her. "It shouldn't take too long for us to run back and fetch them."

"Might I help?" Sivney offered, as he and Ædwige had pre-arranged earlier. "I'd be glad to escort you back to the Royal Library, Lady Ædwige."

Ædwige lowered her eyes demurely. "Oh, but Lord Sivney, wouldn't that take you out of your way? Once I get my gloves back, we'll be heading back to the Basilica after all, which is completely in the opposite direction from where you're going, isn't it? I'd truly hate to impose! Though it's dear of you to offer."

Sivney made a show of glancing up at the dark sky overhead and then back at the three ladies. "But then once you've all made your way back to the Schola, at least one of you is still going to have to make the long walk back this way again tonight, aren't you? Lady Briony, don't you need to return to the Queen's Apartments after you've escorted Lady Ædwige back to her quarters? And what about Aynbeth?"

The two other girls glanced at each other. "Well, yes," Briony confirmed somewhat reluctantly. "There _is_ that. But we should be all right; Aynbeth and I will be together, after all, and we'll not tarry on our way back to the castle once we've seen Ædwige back to her chamber safely."

Sivney fell into step with them. "Then at least let me join you ladies. It wouldn't be out of my way at all; I wasn't going anywhere in particular. I had just been out for a walk and was about to head into the Great Hall for a few minutes by a warm hearth and a goblet of mulled wine, and to catch up on the latest news before heading back to the Basilica for the night, but that can all wait." He smiled at the two younger maidens. "I don't want to have to answer for myself if Brendan should hear that I came upon you young ladies walking out this late at night unattended and didn't offer you a safe escort." He winked at Aynbeth. "Nor do I want to have to answer to your brother Magister Rogan. He might not be as swift with a sword as Brendan is, but I'd hate to have to dodge the books he'd throw at me!"

The Hort of Orsal's daughter made a face at her cousin, giggling at him. "Well, come along then, though it's really not necessary. And don't think I won't tell Rogan you said that!"

They returned to the Royal Library together, catching up with Father John just as he was on the verge of locking up for the night. Ædwige dashed back into the room, making her way to the table where she'd left her gloves earlier and returning quickly, murmuring her apologies to the priest as she left for keeping him waiting.

"And now it's time for you two handmaidens to head back up to the Royal Apartments," Sivney told the younger girls sternly. " _I'll_ walk Lady Ædwige back to the Basilica. There's no need for you two to go all the way through the gardens and parklands and back again at _this_ hour of the night!" He patted the dagger hilt under his cloak. "She'll be safe enough with me."

Ædwige gave him a demure smile. "If you're absolutely _certain_ it won't be too much trouble, Lord Sivney...?"

"It would be my pleasure to escort you home, Lady Ædwige."

#

 _Rhemuth Castle Parklands  
October 2—late evening_

Sivney escorted Ædwige through the gardens and parklands almost as far as the Basilica compound, though shortly before they reached that destination he led her off the main path instead, bypassing the picturesque pond on the southern end of the park and heading for the tower at the part of the castle wall where the wall angled to join up with the outer perimeter of the Basilica grounds and Abbot's Tower. There was a grove of small trees in that part of the park, one that would offer excellent cover in the growing darkness and which would be well out of the way of any passers-by who might be heading towards either the Basilica or the main part of the castle at this time of the evening. The moon was high enough now to cast some faint light on the ground, lighting their way well enough for them to pick out the path without having to call upon their enhanced Deryni senses too much. Sivney was glad for the moonlight; they might have created handfire to illuminate their way, of course, but that would have been all too likely to draw unwanted attention to their detour.

"We can't stay out too late," Ædwige reminded him breathlessly once they'd reached the small grove and he'd drawn her into its shadows, kissing her hungrily. "Princess Rothana might suspect something if I'm back too long after nightfall, even if I tell her the story about the mislaid gloves and having to go back for them."

"Then we'd better not waste the time we've got," Sivney whispered, pulling her close. He fumbled in the darkness for her veil pins. "How do you remove this damned thing?"

She giggled and reached up to free her hair of its silky confines.

#

Brendan, Earl of Marley, was also having a restless evening. He'd just finished the Michaelmas report for Marley, a task he'd been given Royal permission to defer for a few days longer to allow for his brief holiday in Coroth, and had turned it in to the King just an hour before along with the Corwyn rolls of account that Duke Alaric had entrusted him with bringing back with him to Rhemuth. But it was still too early for him to feel sleepy just yet.

He heard voices coming up the stairs and recognized one of the approaching ladies as his sister Briony. He paused to greet the two maidens, exchanging pleasantries and asking about their evening.

"Aynbeth and I have been studying in the Royal Library, but we're heading back to the Queen's solar now," Briony told him. "Ædwige was with us, but Sivney said he'd see her safely back to the Schola."

Would he now? Brendan fought the urge to raise a questioning eyebrow at his sister. He doubted she'd heard the rumors about their childhood friend's carnal appetites—after all, that was hardly a fit topic for maidenly ears!—but he'd heard about some of Sivney's more recent exploits firsthand and wasn't as certain as his sister that her newly-widowed friend was indeed in safe hands. Not that he imagined Lord Sivney would ever actually force a lady—hot-blooded, the lad might be, but he was no blackguard—but Sivney was definitely not above seducing one, and the Lady Ædwige was quite lovely and vulnerable...

"Well, I'm glad you've got your studies done. Have a good evening, ladies." He'd walked Briony and Aynbeth back to the Queen's apartments and then left, going to the top of the Queen's Tower and exiting onto the castle walk. Brendan thought a stroll along the castle wall might be in order; it would allow him to vent his energies and would also allow him a good vantage point for viewing the main pathways winding through the parklands.

#

Brendan never actually saw them either on the main pathways or elsewhere, but he could hardly miss the two lovebirds regardless. Even if it weren't for his keen Deryni senses, there was little way he could have missed the sounds coming from almost directly beneath his path. He kept his mind tightly shielded and froze next to the parapet wall, hoping to avoid their notice. He needn't have worried; it became clear after just a few brief heartbeats that both the lord and the lady below were oblivious to their surroundings at that particular moment.

"Oh, Jesú!" a familiar voice moaned. "I never dreamed it could all feel _that_ lovely, Sivney!"

An even more familiar chuckle, one Brendan had heard quite a bit in his younger years, but never in quite this same low, confidential tone. "There's more where that came from, if you'd like..."

A soft giggle. "I _would_ like, but we're late getting back to the Schola as it is, and if I stay out any longer, Princess Rothana might start up a search for me!" The last words were slightly muffled, perhaps by a kiss, as there was an extended silence before she spoke again. "We'd probably better head back."

"But...wait...right _now?_ " Sivney's voice sounded almost plaintive. Brendan surmised his childhood friend must not have managed to get as far along as he'd hoped with his conquest that evening. The thought left the young Earl caught somewhere between indignation at Sivney and laughter.

"The night's not getting any earlier, my lord," Ædwige answered, her voice partially muffled by faint rustling sounds that might have been caused either by her brushing against low branches or else rearranging layers of fabric, Brendan couldn't quite discern which. "Mayhap we can meet a bit earlier some other evening." He could see the swaying of low branches and small saplings now as Ædwige moved past them and stepped out into the clearing beyond. Brendan drew further back against the parapet, masking himself in its shadow.

"But how? _When?_ " Sivney followed her from the tiny copse of trees, fumbling with the lacing of his breeches, looking frustrated.

"I don't know!" The lady shrugged slim shoulders. "I'm sure we'll think of something." She extended her hand to her companion. "Just like we'd better think of a good excuse for our late arrival tonight."

Sivney offered her his arm. "Your veil was loose and blew away. It took us a while to find it again in the dark."

"And why would I bother chasing after a veil in the dark, when I've got others in my chamber?" Ædwige tilted her head up at her escort, looking dubious.

"It's fine silk," Sivney pointed out. "You'd hate for it to get ruined by being left out overnight."

A silvery tinkle of laughter. "I suppose that _would_ be annoying, but it's not as if Papa couldn't buy me a new one."

They drew out of earshot, so Brendan never heard what reply Sivney made to that comment.


	21. Part II--Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

 _St. Hilary's Basilica  
October 4, 1136_

Ædwige mentally rehearsed her story as she awaited her turn to enter the small chamber where Father Shandon usually chose to hear confessions. She had awakened earlier than usual and dressed quickly, skipping her usual breakfast in order to get there earlier than anyone else, or so she'd hoped, but apparently someone had still managed to get there before her, so now she waited, growing more anxious with every passing moment.

She wasn't sure why she was so nervous. After all, priests had heard everything before, hadn't they? And her Papa's chaplain Father Lars had assured her that they might be strict and stern, but this was only out of care and concern for a sinner's soul, and that once she'd confessed her sins, she'd be granted absolution, no matter what she'd done, and be restored to God's grace. And the most important part—to Ædwige's mind, at least—was that anything she said in Confession would remain completely secret, for if a priest were to violate the holy seal of the confessional, he would be immediately excommunicate, or at the very least sent into monastic life and never permitted to hear confessions again. So it all seemed simple enough, really. Still, she felt ready to bolt back out the door. What if Father Lars had lied or oversimplified what he'd said about absolution and the confessional seal, or even if he was simply mistaken? What if assurance of Heaven weren't really so simple?

It wasn't as if Ædwige felt like she really _was_ in need of forgiveness. And Father Lars had always made a big deal about needing to be truly repentant before seeking reconciliation with God. Ædwige couldn't think of anything she'd ever done that she felt truly penitent for. Well, all right, there was that one time a few years back when her tiring maid had ruined a brand new gown and Ædwige had shoved her in a fit of pique. She'd not noticed how close the tiresome little slut had been standing to the top of the stairs, so it was hardly her fault that the girl stumbled down a full flight of steps and broke her leg, but Ædwige had been sorry for it afterward. Not because she'd been in the wrong—she hadn't been, of course—but still, she'd lost the services of that wench, and it had been such a bother to train up another one to replace her. And the new maid was even worse than the original. Yes, Ædwige was truly sorry that she'd let her temper get the best of her on that occasion. But she'd been cleansed of that mistake long ago, and her conscience had been clear afterward. Well, until she'd had to deal with her stupid husband, at least.

Still, the Church was picky about such things as killing. Even if it needed doing, they required penances afterward, unless an absolution had been secured beforehand, like bishops were apt to give before knights and men-at-arms marched off into battle. And what was she supposed to have done, asked her husband's chaplain if he might please to absolve her before she sent the old codger on to his eternal bliss? Knowing Gilrae, he'd be too busy doing his seventy virgins in the afterlife to even notice his wife hadn't accompanied him on the journey. Or was that the Moorish Paradise? Ædwige wasn't sure. Truth be told, she'd only paid attention to Father Lars's catechisms when she'd absolutely had to. If God truly knew and loved her as Father Lars claimed He did, then He'd know that she couldn't stand it when people started nattering on about boring stuff. And if He'd made her that way, then it really _couldn't_ be her fault if she had trouble paying attention, now could it?

Ædwige peeked up from where she was pretending to pray at the altar rail, but the door to Father Shandon's small chamber was still closed. She bowed her head again. Should she go ahead and confess what she'd done in the parklands with Sivney while she was at it? She hadn't actually done the full marital chore with him, after all, she'd only let him think she was going to give in, but had stopped him before he'd gotten quite that far. Stopping him had been difficult—by that point, she'd not really wanted to stop either, but as Papa often told her, good things were worth waiting for. Normally Ædwige couldn't see the point of that tiresome old saying, but this time she figured it was more applicable. After all, if she gave Sivney what he wanted _too_ quickly, he might stop being so eager for her. And at the moment, he was the better of her two prospects, since she'd not seen Earl Brendan yet since his return to Court. So she needed to secure a betrothal from Sivney at the very least before she gave in fully to those desires, difficult though that might be, for that brief romp in the sheltered little grove had been simply amazing. Maybe she should drop the idea of pursuing Brendan altogether and just make sure of Sivney instead? No, she really liked the idea of being a Countess. Still, maybe there was some way she could end up with both. Not married to both, obviously, but what if she could end up as Countess of Marley, but still enjoy the occasional dalliance with Sivney? He'd probably be agreeable to the notion, randy as _he_ was. She couldn't imagine any reason why he wouldn't be.

The door opened, and Ædwige guiltily tucked that thought away behind ironclad shields. Father Shandon was mere human, thank Jesú, which was why she'd picked _him_ to confess to, so he'd not read her mind, but he might be good at figuring out people's thoughts from their facial expressions. Some people were, even if they weren't Deryni. Sister Therese left the room. Ædwige wondered what _she'd_ had to confess. Did nuns ever sin? It must have been something quite improper if she'd gotten up so early to confess it, or was Sister Therese just one of those annoying people who preferred rising very early in the morning before the rest of the world was fully awake? Perhaps that's how she'd managed to beat Ædwige here. The thought of Sister Therese doing anything even remotely sinful enough to warrant having to scurry downstairs and make her confession at first light made Ædwige have to stifle a giggle.

The young widow crossed herself and rose from the altar rail. She could do this; she'd certainly practiced it often enough in her mind already. All she had to do was tell Father Shandon what she had done, making sure he understood it all from her point of view, of course, so he'd understand why it had been necessary, and he'd absolve her. Then, once everything had been made right and she needn't worry about the fires of Hell anymore, she'd simply blur his memories of the confession so that he couldn't tell anyone else what she'd told him even if he wanted to. He'd not even remember she was here. Yes, Father Lars had assured her that the confessional seal was inviolate, but Ædwige certainly wasn't going to take any silly chances. After all, if word got out that she'd helped her first husband die a little sooner than expected, she might have trouble securing a second husband. And that would be a shame, now that she knew that the marital chore, if done right, was actually rather delightful.

She walked into the room and shut the door behind her, taking a deep breath as the latch clicked into place. To the priest kneeling at the prie-dieu, his bowed head facing away from her, she whispered, "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been..." She thought back quickly, counting the months. "Nine months since my last confession."

The priest rose, turning to greet her with a warm and reassuring smile. Ædwige froze, startled. Instead of the man she'd expected to see, she was facing Father John Nivard.

#

The young woman before him blanched, her eyes darting towards the closed door. Father John was puzzled. He had no idea what had frightened her, unless...might she be terrified of Deryni and therefore alarmed to see him here this morning in place of Father Shandon? No, that hardly made sense; if that were the case, she'd not have come to St. Hilary's Basilica, the very center of Saint Camber's Schola, to make her confession!

It took him a moment to recognize her face, and then he was certain he'd been mistaken in his initial assumption. No, this was one of the young Camberian scholars, so she was almost certainly Deryni herself. He gestured towards a nearby bench. "I'm very sorry, I never meant to startle you," he murmured, attempting to comfort her. "Father Shandon was taken ill this morning, so I offered to take his place. You're one of the scholars here, aren't you?"

She nodded, the color starting to return to her face, although a tentative probe from him encountered diamond-hard shields. "Yes, Father." The young woman glanced at the bench he indicated, but made no move to sit. "Is Father Shandon very sick?"

"Not dangerously so," John answered, "but he'll likely be under the weather for several days. He has a touch of the sweating sickness, I believe, but not a bad case. Sister Therese expects him to make a full recovery, but probably not for at least a week."

"Oh. Then..." The young woman looked puzzled. "I thought she was here for confession also?"

Well, that too, John thought, although he answered the question with nothing more than a noncommittal smile. He touched his fingertips lightly to the purple stole he wore. "Is that why you've come?" He moved to the bench, taking a seat at one end of it before looking back up at her. "I don't bite, daughter. At least not very hard. If you're afraid I'll give you a stricter penance than Father Shandon would, I doubt you need worry on that score." He chuckled. "After nearly a dozen years in the priesthood, I'm pretty unshockable."

She studied him, sky-blue eyes wary, then seemed to come to a decision. "That's good, Father. Because there _is_ something I need to get off my chest..."

#

Father John sat in stunned silence after listening to the young woman's confession, unable at first to think clearly enough to come up with an appropriate response, much less a suitable penance for her actions. Complicating the issue was his strong suspicion that, despite her willingness to confess the deed, she appeared to have little true penitence or remorse for what she'd done. She appeared to believe that her actions were somehow justified, and if that were the case, absolution and reconciliation would be impossible unless the young widow first came to understand the severity of what she'd done and became truly repentant.

He took a deep breath, centering himself and getting a grip on the emotions roiling beneath the calm face he presented to the lady. "I see. So now you are seeking absolution for your husband's murder?"

She looked slightly annoyed. "Well, I wouldn't call it _murder,_ exactly. He _was_ dying, after all, just not nearly fast enough."

"Ah." What could he possibly say to _that?_ "But you _did_ help him along?"

The young widow shrugged. "Only a little." She looked at him defensively. "But if he's in Heaven now, he ought to be grateful, oughtn't he? It's not like he was going to get better, so at least he's in a better place now. If you look at it that way, I really did him a favor."

"But that wasn't your decision to make, it was God's," John tried to explain, wondering if the girl was genuinely mad or simply lacking a conscience. She seemed, in her own way, entirely rational. After a moment's reflection, John actually found that thought more frightening than the thought he might be dealing with a lunatic.

"Well, then God should have got on with it quicker," she said, her voice tinged with asperity. "So, am I absolved now, or do you have to say the Latin stuff first?"

Father John knew now what he needed to do, knew also that the lady would most likely be unwilling, but there was no other recourse. He hoped she was unarmed under those widow's weeds.

"I'm afraid I can only absolve you from this sin if you are truly repentant, and so far your words and actions haven't shown me that you are. But if you will openly confess what you have done to your husband's overlord, or to the King, then I will give you absolution."

She gaped at him for a long moment, looking as stunned as he'd felt earlier. "Are you _mad?"_ she finally shrieked. "Have you no idea what they would _do_ to me?"

He did. John gave her a sad smile as he nodded. "I'm afraid temporal crimes come with temporal consequences just as sins against God come with spiritual ones. And what you've done happens to be both. But no matter what secular judgment might come against you—and by confessing your deeds and throwing yourself at your lord's mercy or on the Crown's, at least you stand _some_ chance of obtaining leniency—your soul would be cleansed of the taint of your actions. You need not fear death then..."

"Bloody hell I needn't! I don't _want_ to die, you idiot! I came here because I want to go to Heaven _someday_ , not _now!_ "

 _Wouldn't the executioner be doing you a favor, sending you on to eternal bliss earlier than originally scheduled?_ _I'd think you would be grateful,_ John mused briefly, then felt a pang of remorse for the sarcastic thought. He was here to offer her the way back to God, not to judge her, difficult though it was for him not to do so after what she'd shared.

The young woman started towards the door, but paused, whirling to face him again. " _You're_ not going to tell the King, are you? This was a confession, and you're a priest!" Her eyes blazed angry fire at him.

He shook his head. "I will tell no one. The seal of the confessional covers all sins equally, and I'm bound by my vows. But for the sake of your soul, I strongly urge _you_ to tell him."

She looked angry enough to launch herself at him, but she restricted her assault to mere words, flinging them in his face. "No bloody way! I hope you rot, Father Nivard," she yelled at him as she turned the door latch. "I'll see you defrocked and stripped of your priesthood if it's the last thing I ever do!"

The furious widow threw open the door, finding herself face to face with a shocked-looking maiden. Father John recognized the younger lass immediately. She was Briony Morgan.

#

"Ædwige! Ædwige, wait!" Briony ran after her friend as the older girl fled from the Basilica. Her earlier intention to make her weekly confession was completely forgotten in her shock. She caught up with Ædwige in the courtyard, catching her by the arm and drawing her aside to the shelter of the cloistered walk, staring at her wild-eyed friend in concern. "What's wrong? And why are you so angry with Father Nivard?"

Ædwige gathered her composure, dabbing away tears of rage and struggling to catch her breath. "It's nothing," she muttered. "Don't worry about it, Briony."

The young lady-in-waiting shook her head, looking resolute. "It's not 'nothing,' Ædwige, or you wouldn't be so furious. And frightened too, I'll warrant. I can feel your emotions without even half trying."

Ædwige gave her a startled look, tightening her shields immediately as she glanced around the courtyard furtively. "I don't want to talk about it," she whispered.

Briony looked around the courtyard. "You're right, this isn't the place," she whispered back. "But you need to tell _someone_. If you're so upset that you've threatened to see Father Nivard stripped of his priesthood, then whatever he said or did back there must have been horrible! Maybe you should talk to Bishop Duncan..."

"No!" Ædwige fought down her panic, grabbing her friend by the sleeve and dragging her deeper into the shadows of the cloistered walkway, not that the bright daylight around them offered much in the way of concealment. _You don't understand, I can't_ , she Mind-Spoke.

 _Why not?_ Briony reasoned. _He's the Rector! If there's a problem with Father Nivard, he needs to know about it._

The only problem with Father Nivard, Ædwige thought sourly, was that he was an unmitigated ass, but she could hardly tell Bishop McLain _that,_ unfortunately! She shook her head at Briony. _I know Bishop McLain is a good man, but Father Nivard is his friend. The Bishop wouldn't believe me if I told him._ Told him what? Ædwige knew she'd have to come up with some explanation for her strong words against Father Nivard, but what could she tell Briony? She could hardly tell her the truth, after all, for Briony was far too much of an innocent to ever see Sir Gilrae's death as Ædwige did—Ædwige instinctively knew _that_ much—but on the other hand she needed to be told _something_ plausible, something that would explain why Ædwige didn't wish any complaint against Father Nivard to go any further up the Church hierarchy, despite her threats against him.

On the other hand, what if she said nothing overt against the priest, simply answered Briony's questions in such a way that the younger girl would leap to conclusions that, however logical, were not the actual truth Ædwige wished to hide? Yes, that might work. She'd have to lay the groundwork carefully, but once she did, surely Briony would understand her wish to let the matter drop.

Ædwige shuddered delicately, hugging herself as if to fend off a chill, although the morning was relatively warm and growing steadily warmer as the sun continued to rise overhead. She chose her statements carefully, in case Briony felt a need to question the truth behind them and began to Truth-Read what she was sharing. Could Mind-Speech even be Truth-Read in the same way regular speech could? She wasn't sure, but certainly didn't wish to find out the hard way! _I should have sought out some other confessor this morning instead. None of this would have happened._

 _What_ did _happen?_ Briony asked, confused.

 _Oh Jesú, I can't bring myself to talk about it,_ Ædwige Mind-Spoke. _Father Nivard asked me to...to do unspeakable things! I really couldn't bring myself to tell you._ She lowered her eyes, blinking away tears as if mortified to share even that much with her dear friend.

Briony stared at her, shocked. _You mean...Father Nivard...surely he didn't proposition you?!_

Ædwige swallowed a sob. _He said he wouldn't grant me absolution for my sins unless I did a certain thing he wanted me to do...something simply awful, Briony! There was no way I could possibly bring myself to do it, even if he were to promise me absolution for all of my sins hereafter! But if I can't bring myself to tell even_ you _what he asked me to do, how could I possibly tell anyone else?_

Briony straightened bravely, her pale face grimly resolute. She hugged her friend. _I understand completely. Don't worry, dear, I'll take care of it for you!_ She turned and walked swiftly towards the Rector's office, leaving Ædwige staring after her in stunned dismay for a few moments until her body caught up with her thoughts. She sprinted after Briony, catching her just short of re-entering the Basilica.

 _No, wait, you_ can't _tell the Rector! Please, Briony; I trusted you!_ Ædwige's eyes pleaded with Briony as she fought down a surge of fear. _I thought you'd understand! If you tell, then there'll be questions, and possibly even an Archbishop's Tribunal, and I'd...I'd be called upon to testify...and oh God, I couldn't bear facing_ _Father Nivard again, not around all those men, all asking me such...such_ personal _questions!_ Just the thought of such a thing happening brought a very real flare of panic welling up in Ædwige, for if the matter escalated that far out of hand, there would almost certainly be some Truth-Reading involved in determining the truth or falsity of the accusation, and Ædwige knew she could hardly hope to continue phrasing her statements carefully enough to evade discovery for very long. Sooner or later her manipulation of the truth would be discovered, and then they might want to know why she had made such accusations against Father Nivard in the first place.

Briony took her hands, her eyes filled with compassion. _No, of course you'd not want to be subjected to all that! You've endured far too much already. But that's why I mean to go to Bishop Duncan myself, you see? So that you needn't go through all of that. The Rector is my cousin; he'll at least hear me out, even if he has trouble believing anything bad about Father Nivard. I won't tell him that_ you're _the one who told me about what Father Nivard did, but Ædwige, if he's done it to you, he may well have abused his priestly authority with other ladies as well, and he'll never stop as long as everyone is too fearful to report what's going on. And even if you are the first woman he's tried this with, he needs to be stopped. Please, Ædwige, let me help you._

Ædwige bowed her head, carefully considering the matter. Yes, that might well work after all! Father Nivard could still be ruined, or at least highly compromised, in the eyes of his superiors without any finger of blame pointing out to her, for she had no doubt that Briony would keep her word concerning protecting her identity. Even once it became apparent to all that her charges against him were false, as Ædwige supposed was almost bound to happen eventually, if no one knew who had made the original accusation, they wouldn't be any closer to knowing why she'd done it, and they couldn't question her about her motives if they didn't know who she was. And Father Nivard couldn't very well tell them, now could he? Not without violating his priestly seal. If the Church's stupid rules really meant so much to him, then let _him_ live up to them and see how damned awkward that was! Yes, she could have her revenge on Father Nivard after all, without having to do a single thing that might draw unwanted attention to herself.

Ædwige sniffled delicately, dabbing at her eyes. _All right, Briony, if that's what you think is best. But_ please _don't tell Bishop McLain who told you about Father Nivard's perfidy. I'm trusting you._

Briony gave her friend a tender kiss on the cheek. _I know. And I won't let you down._


	22. Part II--Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

 _Saint Hilary's Basilica, Rector's study  
October 4, 1136—morning_

Briony Morgan peeked into the open door of Duncan McLain's study, but he was not there. Instead, Brother Everard was present, tending to the hearth and making the room ready for the Bishop's eventual arrival. She bit her lip, feeling uncertain. What she had to share was for the Bishop's ears only, but perhaps the Schola's scribe might know when he'd be in.

"Do you know where the Rector is this morning, Brother?" she asked.

"Aye, my lady, he's down at the Cathedral on church business. And after that, he said he'd be going into town for a short bit. I expect we'll see him back here no earlier than noon."

"Oh." Briony felt somewhat deflated. She could hardly go scurrying around the City in hopes of encountering Uncle Duncan; it would be best just to wait for his return, difficult as that was. She briefly considered going to Queen Araxie with what she'd learned, but no, this seemed like an internal matter for the Church to handle, and Uncle Duncan would hardly thank her if she were indiscreet enough to go babbling to the Queen without coming to him first, no matter how much she felt she might burst if she didn't tell _someone_ about what she'd learned from Ædwige at just that moment. "Well...I suppose I could come back in a bit," she told Brother Everard.

"I'm sure he'll be glad to see his favorite Lady-in-Waiting once he returns," the scribe assured her.

Briony ventured a smile. "Then he'll have to wait a bit longer," she joked, "for Mama won't be in Rhemuth until closer to Christmas."

#

 _City of Rhemuth  
October 4—late morning_

Duncan McLain strolled through Merchants Row on his way back to the Castle, rather than sticking to the more direct route along the King's Way. The more northerly route was not all that far out of the way, and traveled in more or less the same direction, but as the street's name implied, he'd pass many a merchant's shop on his way back to the Castle grounds, and perhaps one might contain the present he sought. At the moment, he was stuck for inspiration, and he wished he could have thought of some pretext for bringing Helena with him, although the Archbishop might have wondered at the sudden inclusion of a third party at what was meant to be a private meeting, and it would hardly make sense for him to go straight back to the Castle to fetch her now when they'd just have to return to this area of town again.

No, if he were being honest with himself, he'd have to admit that he didn't really need Helena along just to help him choose John's gift. He'd managed to pick out presents well enough on his own for years. It was just...that shopping trip back in February when the two of them had picked out a birthday present for Sophie had been more _fun_ in Helena's company. Duncan enjoyed the feeling that he got when he found just the right gift for someone, but as for the hours or even days of shopping and searching that often preceded those special finds, those were normally much more tedious. He vastly preferred to have some idea of what he was looking for already, so he could just head for the right shop, or at least the right area of the city to find one, and be in and out in a matter of minutes.

This was not one of those times, though, and Duncan perused the open shop windows with an uninspired eye. What _would_ be a suitable present for the twelfth anniversary of his friend's ordination to the priesthood? His original impulse had been to buy John a book, but as much as John loved new acquisitions for the Royal Library, he had little space in his small bedchamber for a personal library, so he preferred to keep only a few volumes on a shelf next to his bed. So _that_ was out.

His eye fell on the open shop window displaying the wares of a metal worker, a caster of bronze. The artisan was extremely skilled at his craft, and Duncan lifted one intricately designed pendant off its display shelf to give it a closer inspection in the sunlight. The light glinted warmly off the dark polished metal, creating attractive lights and shadows. The delicate flower depicted by the cast metal was a better suited piece of jewelry for a lady than for a priest, though, and John wasn't much given to wearing jewelry in any case, save for his pectoral cross and a simple gold ring on his left hand to symbolize his marriage to the Church.

Duncan put the pendant back down on the shelf, next to a beautiful mirror case that looked suitable for Helena. He sternly reminded himself that he wasn't here to buy anything for her today, although he'd definitely keep the shop's location in mind for another occasion, and started to move on, when a round object hanging on a wall inside the shop caught his eye.

He beckoned to the shopkeeper, who noticed what his prospective customer was interested in and took it down from the wall, bringing it over to the window for Duncan to look over in better light. Duncan took the small disk, turning it over briefly to see the small recessed area in the back of it that would allow it to be hung from a nail or small peg, although he noted that the rest of the object was perfectly flat in back, and could therefore also be displayed on a tabletop or low shelf if one chose to leave it lying flat. Something wall-mounted would take up less space in a small chamber, though, so it was nice to have both options available. It was a good sized plaque, nearly as wide across as the span of his open hand, though perhaps just under half an inch thick. Its size gave it some weight, but not so much that Duncan worried about it being too heavy to be supported by a single nail. He turned it back upright to examine the design of the casting.

The cast design was of an intricate labyrinth, its winding path leading inward in eleven circuits from the bottom edge of the disk, meandering through four quadrants to a six-petaled rose in the center of the cross formed by the sides of each quadrant. The symbolism of the labyrinth would make a fitting present for a priest, Duncan thought, reflecting as it did the experience of pilgrimage, life's journey, discovery, wholeness, renewal, and the inner spiritual journey. For a Deryni priest, it was even more appropriate, for the labyrinth was often used as a staring pattern to aid in grounding and centering.

Duncan traced the circuitous path with a fingertip, allowing his mind to drift into light trance as his questing finger traveled towards the center of the labyrinth then back out again, emerging at the same spot where it had entered. He smiled up at the craftsman then, who gave him an understanding grin of his own.

"Mesmerizing little pattern, aye? Were ye wantin' it for yerself?"

The bishop shook his head. "I might consider getting myself one someday, but no, this would be for a friend. A priest about to celebrate the anniversary of his ordination." He sent a tentative mental probe towards the shopkeeper, and was not surprised to meet with shields, although not very tightly sealed ones. His smile widened. "A Deryni priest, as it happens."

The man's brows rose. "Aye? Not too common, those. Not yet at any rate." He found a scrap of soft leather to wrap the plaque in, binding the wrapping with a length of cord. "I normally sell these for a royal, but for a Deryni priest, I'll let it go for a vice-royal."

The bishop counted out the coins, not bothering to haggle over the price, for he recognized that he was already being offered quite the bargain for the piece. With a nod, the merchant pocketed the payment, handing over the gift in exchange. Duncan tucked it into his pouch and continued down to Market Square and beyond there to the Castle.

#

 _Rhemuth Castle, Earl of Marley's chamber  
October 4—late morning_

"Why so gloomy looking?" Brendan chucked his little sister under the chin in an effort to get her to look up at him, hopefully with a smile. "And why aren't you with the Queen's ladies?"

Briony glanced up at him from her perch at the foot of his bed. "I was supposed to have a class this morning, but I stopped by the Basilica to see if Father Shandon could hear my confession first, or at least I was planning to..." Tears welled up in her eyes. "But then I...found out about something else instead, and I was going to tell Uncle Duncan, but he wasn't there, and...oh, I don't know what to do!"

Brendan put down the knife he was sharpening, studying his sister with a puzzled frown. "Could you start closer to the beginning? Because you've lost me. What's got you so upset?" His lips quirked in a suppressed grin. "Surely you've not become such a grave sinner since last evening's Vespers, or whenever it was you last bothered a priest with your misdemeanors, that you're in agonies over missing Father Shandon this morning?"

His sister lobbed a cushion at him. "Oh, _do_ be serious, Brendan!"

Brendan dodged the cushion easily. "Father, bless me, for I have sinned," he teased in a singsong voice. "It has been twelve hours since my last Confession. Since then, I've rolled my eyes behind Lady Emilia's back twice, botched my embroidery, and I became quite cross with my dear brother Brendan. Oh, what penance must I do for flinging pillows at his charming head?"

Outraged blue-gray eyes blazed angrily at him. "This is not funny!" She sent a memory from earlier that morning slamming through their mental link—the memory of a raised voice overheard through a closed door, a female voice just muffled enough by the thick wooden door that he couldn't readily identify it, although loud enough that the threatening words were easily enough understood. Brendan gave Briony an alarmed look as she broke off the link, becoming more subdued as he absorbed what she had shared with him.

"I'm sorry, sweeting. I was only trying to lighten your mood, but you're right, that _does_ sound serious. Have you any idea who she is, and why she threatened Father Shandon?"

"Father Nivard, actually; Father Shandon's taken ill. And yes, I do know who she is, but I can't tell you. I can't even tell Uncle Duncan who she is—I gave her my word—but she had good reason for being angry." Briony's fingers plucked at her brother's blanket in agitation. "She said that Father Nivard...that she'd gone to him for Confession, but he told her he'd only absolve her if...if she did certain things." Briony turned scarlet. " _Wrong_ things, Brendan. Things so humiliating, she couldn't even bring herself to tell me the details. She didn't even want me telling Uncle Duncan at first, but I finally got her to see that he's got to be stopped or he might try the same thing with other ladies as well."

Brendan stared at his sister, incredulous. "Wait. You're telling me that Father Nivard propositioned her? _John Nivard?_ "

She nodded, looking miserable, her tears brimming over. "I know, I didn't want to believe it either! I know Papa and Mama quite like him, and he's always seemed so nice. But Brendan, if only you'd seen her! She was clearly terrified of him, not to mention outraged. I could feel the emotions pouring off her; there's no way she was lying!" She clasped her hands tightly in her lap, staring at them. "Do you think maybe...maybe he was never meant to be a priest at all, but maybe his family forced him into it? Or _something_ ; I don't know!"

Brendan considered what he knew about the priest, which—he suddenly realized—wasn't all that much, at least not on a very personal level. Oh, certainly he'd known Father Nivard for years; having spent so much time in Rhemuth's Court, it would have been hard for him not to have had at least a nodding acquaintance with the man who was both the Royal Chaplain and the Royal Librarian. But they were hardly intimates, after all. Nivard was closer to his parents' age than his own. Brendan certainly didn't share the level of friendship with the priest that might lead to the sharing of confidences. Certainly he had, on occasion, sought out Father Nivard if he had a question regarding some spiritual matter, or less frequently, if he felt the need to seek out a confessor here at Court, although generally he preferred to wait until he was back in either Coroth or Marley to seek out the chaplains who knew him best. But he didn't really _know_ the priest, at least not in the same way that he knew Payne Haldane or the other close friends he had grown up with. Was Father Nivard capable of such a deep violation of his vows and the King's trust? Brendan certainly wouldn't have thought so, but then again, how could anyone be sure? Nivard was a man, after all, and Brendan knew full well how powerful certain urges could become. Perhaps vows made in his youth had proven too difficult for him to keep once he'd reached full maturity? Other priests had taken mistresses in secret, to be sure. Brendan could almost sympathize with Father Nivard, even if he couldn't approve of his choice, if _that_ had been what Briony had discovered about him. But there was a difference between a consenting relationship, or even a seduction, and the misuse of his priestly office to coerce carnal acts from an unwilling woman, if in fact that's what Nivard had tried to do.

"Should I warn the Queen?" Briony asked him. "He's the King's Chaplain, after all; I'm sure King Kelson would want to know..."

Brendan shook his head. "No, not yet. Yes, you're right, the King _will_ need to know about this, but it's properly a matter for the Church to handle, and you did the right thing by going to Uncle Duncan first. He should be back at the Basilica soon. Duncan will know the proper procedure for investigating such charges. After all, if there's any chance that Father Nivard is innocent, we wouldn't want to damage his reputation irreparably by spreading unproven allegations about him too early. And if he's not—well, in _that_ case the Archbishop will have had time to gather the evidence the Church needs to support the charges against Nivard when they inform the King of their need to replace his chosen Chaplain."

#

 _St. Hilary's Basilica—Rector's study  
October 4—afternoon_

Duncan McLain stared at his young cousin in shock. "Briony, you realize that's a very serious charge you're making? Are you absolutely _certain_ that your source of information is reliable?"

The maiden nodded vehemently. "Yes, Uncle Duncan, absolutely. Not only can't I imagine any reason why she would lie to me, especially about something like this, I overheard her reaction before she even knew I was around, and I could feel her anger and shock afterward. She was so outraged, everything she felt was leaking through her shields at first until she regained control over her emotions. She couldn't have faked those reactions, I'm certain of it."

Duncan rubbed absently at his forehead to dispel the headache that was threatening. "It would really help if I could speak to her myself. I know you told her that you wouldn't disclose her identity, but maybe you could talk her into coming to me herself? If she's worried that she won't get a fair hearing..."

Briony shook her head. "It's not that...well, not _just_ that, at any rate. Not only is she angry and scared, she's also embarrassed and humiliated. Just imagine what it must be like from her standpoint, after all! If _you_ were a vulnerable young woman, would you want to have to tell a man about...well...the sorts of things Father Nivard asked her to do?" She dropped her gaze, her cheeks blooming crimson. "It would be like having to live through that mortifying experience all over again. And what if the Archbishop wasn't willing to take your word for what happened, and wanted to speak with her directly as well? How often would she have to repeat that awful story?" The girl shrugged helplessly. "See, that's why _she_ wanted me to just let the matter drop, but if no one does anything about it, won't Father Nivard just keep doing the same thing to others? We can't let him do that!"

" _If_ he's done anything of the sort at all, sweeting," Duncan said, holding up a hand to still her protest before it began. "I'm not saying your friend is lying, just that nothing has been proven one way or the other. There could be some other reason for your friend's reaction besides what might seem to be the most obvious assumption, after all. Perhaps there was simply some sort of misunderstanding rather than a deliberate insult or attempt to abuse his position..." He broke off at Briony's skeptical look. "I'm just saying we need to investigate _all_ possibilities."

"And _then_ what, Uncle Duncan?"

"Then we'll take whatever steps prove to be necessary."

Her blue-gray eyes met his in challenge. "And if you can't prove he did it, but you can't prove he _didn't_ either, then what? Does he just go back to his usual duties, where he can try to coerce some other lady once things die down?"

" _If_ he's guilty, Briony. But no, if he's not absolutely cleared of these allegations, then we'd have to figure out some other, more suitable responsibilities for him. But don't forget, heart, we do have some advantages when it comes to getting to the heart of the matter. John Nivard, despite his training, can't resist a Truth-Reading any more than you or I can, and he'd be well aware that refusing to answer the charges would be tantamount to an admission of guilt. And while your friend might not be willing to disclose her identity so we can Truth-Read her side of the story, it would be extremely helpful if you would allow me to Truth-Read _your_ account of what you actually heard and saw, and even more helpful if you'd be willing to let me Mind-See your memories from this morning."

She frowned. "But can I do that without showing you who my friend is?"

"Yes. Just filter that portion of the memory. It's done similarly to blurring a memory, except the alteration is only in the perception of the receiver. Your own memory of the event won't be altered. Has Magistra Rothana taught you how to do that yet?"

Briony shook her head, looking uncertain. "I can blur a memory, but I've not tried filtering one."

"Let me show you how, then." Duncan selected a brief memory of her playing with Brendan and Kelric as much younger children, filtering it in such a way that all Briony saw was two unidentified boys playing with an equally unknown girl. After a moment, something in the memory seemed to shift focus, and she could see their appearances clearly. As the brief link between them broke, she looked up at him in surprise.

"I think I see how that works." She attempted to do the same thing, using an innocuous memory of her own for her first try. She was mostly successful at her attempt. Duncan's mind-touch directed her control of the memory, showing her how to fine-tune how much she was sharing. After a few more practice sharings, her cousin nodded.

"All right, you've done quite well. Now, can you show me what happened this morning, leaving out nothing of what you saw and heard aside from anything that might identify your friend?"

The events of that morning began to flow into Duncan's mind, nearly every word and sight left intact aside from his inability to focus on who it was she was speaking with. Form and voice were obscured as if by a fog more psychic than visual or aural, although the raw emotions of those minutes came through clearly. His heart sank. He had hoped that whatever Briony had overheard and witnessed might be less damning when looked at from his different perspective, but no, it was clear to him now that further investigation would be needed. If John were somehow innocent of these charges, then he would realize that cooperating with an investigation—and not offering any resistance to a tribunal's Truth-Reading—would clear him, although that in itself would raise even more questions about his accuser's intent. And if he were actually guilty—Duncan prayed fervently that his friend wasn't guilty, but he'd been a priest too long to believe that _any_ person was incorruptible—then a thorough investigation ought to reveal that as well.

He needed to speak to Thomas Cardiel right away. John would need to be relieved of his current duties immediately—not due to a presumption of guilt necessarily, but as much to protect him if the charges ended up being false as to protect others if they ended up being true.

A happier memory from the morning flitted through his mind—the labyrinth plaque he had purchased for John's ordination gift, and his own happy anticipation of presenting it to him in a few days. Duncan closed his eyes, stifling an oath more scatological than priestly as the heavy burden he'd just been handed settled upon his reluctant shoulders. God grant that he might still be able to give his friend that present and celebrate his dozen years of priesthood on that anniversary date.

Denis Arilan would need to be told, Duncan realized. As both a Bishop and a Deryni, he'd be a logical choice to participate in the Archbishop's tribunal. But he'd been John's first mentor, and Duncan was not simply John's superior in the Church, he was a close personal friend. Either bishop could perform the Truth-Reading, but to verify that the Reading was unbiased, they would need another Deryni observer. Someone in the Church, for in a matter this sensitive, the Archbishop would hardly want to invite outside scrutiny. But what Deryni might they find in the Church who could be guaranteed to be wholly objective in his witness?

Duncan couldn't come up with a name, but Thomas would know. Or perhaps Kelson might. Kelson would need to know why the Church was suddenly recalling his chaplain from duty in any case.

"Thank you, Briony." Duncan rose, offering Alaric's daughter a hand up from her bench. "Please excuse me now; I need to return to the Cathedral to consult with the Archbishop just as soon as I can locate someone to take care of a few matters here, and you need to speak with Princess Rothana about rescheduling the lesson you missed with her this morning."

Briony looked relieved. "You're going to see Archbishop Cardiel? You _do_ believe my friend, then?"

Duncan sighed. "I don't know yet, poppet. But I believe _you_."


	23. Part II--Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

 _St. George's Cathedral, Rhemuth  
October 11, 1136_

Father John Nivard sat nervously in an antechamber at the Archbishop's Palace, anxiously awaiting Archbishop Cardiel's messenger's return. He had been housed at one of the guest apartments at the Cathedral over the past week, ever since Bishop Duncan had informed him that he was being temporarily reassigned to assisting the episcopate's archivist at the Cathedral in his duties. Father John strongly suspected that there was more to the sudden reassignment than met the eye—he had caught a glimpse of the King's face after the Archbishop's brief conference with him earlier that same morning, and Thomas Cardiel's glance in his direction as he left had seemed unusually shuttered—but when he'd questioned his friend about the unexpected transfer, Duncan had remained abnormally tight shielded, and had simply answered that he was not at liberty to explain just yet, but that he would do so just as soon as he might be permitted. John had not seen Duncan since that day, though, and he was growing more unsettled with each passing day. He was not sure whether to be more encouraged or worried by the brief look of sympathy he'd glimpsed in his friend's expression during that last meeting.

And then the summons had arrived this morning, brought by Cardiel's messenger, who had escorted him here to this antechamber within Archbishop's Palace, even though the guest apartment where he had been staying was hardly more than fifty paces away from where he sat waiting now. He had the distinct impression that he was under some sort of discreet surveillance, although why Cardiel or anyone else might think he needed to be placed under guard, he had no idea. Surely they couldn't believe he would be a danger to anyone?! Or…perhaps he might be in danger from someone else? Was that it? But if so, why hadn't anyone simply told him?

He had no idea what all of this was about, but his gut told him it was somehow connected with the threat that young widow had made against him just over a week previously. Had she followed through on her words? Was that what all of this was about? John felt a sudden chill go down his spine. He hoped not. Not because he had done anything wrong that morning, but because his private conversation with that young lady had been protected by the seal of the confessional. There was no telling what she might have said or done to place his career in jeopardy, if indeed she'd said or done anything, but even if she had, he'd have to be careful not to say or do anything that would in any way betray the confidences she had shared with him. No matter how much every fiber of his being screamed to reveal her secrets, for he felt tainted just by the knowledge of the crime she had committed, it would be a sin just as great for him to violate his vows by disclosing her confession to others, or even by saying or doing anything that might lead to others guessing what her confession had been. That was for _her_ to disclose, not for him, which was why he had urged her to turn herself in to the authorities in the first place. He could not do so—not to secular authorities, and not even to priestly ones—or his own soul's salvation would be forfeit for violating one of the most sacrosanct of priestly vows.

#

Bishop Duncan stood as two nuns garbed in the habits of the Sisters of Saint Dymphna were escorted into the room. The elder of the two looked vaguely familiar, although Duncan could not figure out why at first.

Both nuns curtsied before Archbishop Cardiel in turn, kissing his ring, although neither woman dropped to one knee before him, for their convent was under Archbishop Bradene's jurisdiction rather than Cardiel's. As they straightened, the Archbishop introduced the new arrivals to his auxiliary bishop. "Duncan, I don't believe you've met our guests from Grecotha yet." Indicating the elder nun first, he added, "This is Sister Silke, and her traveling companion is Sister Lucy. Sisters, this is my auxiliary bishop, Duncan McLain." Turning back to Duncan, he explained, "Archbishop Bradene sent Sister Silke in response to my request for an impartial witness to today's proceedings."

The elder nun smiled at both men, a faint glint of amusement in her gray eyes. "Actually, if it please Your Excellency, I believe Archbishop Bradene meant for Sister Lucy to participate in the inquiry. I'm only along to serve as her chaperone, and also because it's been many a long year since I've had a chance to visit my former home." Her smile broadened. "I'm afraid I can't Truth-Read, even though I am a Haldane. My sister will serve your purposes far better than I could."

Duncan gave the nun who'd just spoken a closer study. This was the former Princess Silke, Prince Nigel's last remaining sister? No wonder she'd seemed so familiar! He murmured a polite greeting, then turned his attention to the other religious. The younger nun looked barely old enough to have taken final vows. She peered up at him, moss-green eyes assessing him over a faint sprinkling of freckles on an slightly upturned nose, her curious expression suddenly reminding him of his grandson. He stifled an unexpected urge to laugh.

"I see," Cardiel said, looking slightly nonplussed at the reversal of his assumption. "Well, in any case, welcome to Rhemuth, both of you. You've met Bishop Denis Arilan already; he's the one who brought you through our Portal from Grecotha this morning. He's just finishing up a quick matter of Royal business, but he should be returning here shortly, and we'll begin once he gets settled in. Sister Silke, you are welcome to remain as an additional witness to the inquiry, although of course any and all matters under discussion today are not to leave these chambers. Or if you'd prefer leave to visit your family instead while we conduct our investigation, I can arrange for an escort to the Castle for you. Sister Lucy will be free to join you once we are finished with the day's business. I believe Archbishop Bradene has given you both a week's dispensation to leave your cloister?"

"He has, Your Excellency. And thank you, I would very much appreciate the escort to the Castle. It has been many years since I've had the opportunity to visit my family. I trust someone will be available to escort Sister Lucy back to me later as well?"

"It would be my pleasure to do so," Duncan assured her. "I'll be heading back in that direction myself afterward, so I'll see her safely back through the City."

#

Father John thought he caught a glimpse of Bishop Arilan's brisk stride past the doorway of the antechamber where he waited, though he wasn't sure. Arilan was occasionally called to Rhemuth on Royal or Church business, so it would hardly be a great surprise to find him this far out from Dhassa. He felt somewhat reassured at the thought that his former mentor might be nearby.

After a short while, the Archbishop's messenger returned to escort Father John into the Archbishop's presence. He followed the man into a larger chamber, where he saw Thomas Cardiel standing at the other side of a table, flanked by Bishops Arilan and McLain on one side and by an unknown nun on his other side. Her habit didn't look like that of one of the local orders. John had only seen one of that particular style and color once before, although he couldn't place when or where at that moment. She wasn't from a convent in or near Dhassa either, then, he surmised, having lived there for a few years before his transfer to Rhemuth. Had she come from Valoret or perhaps Grecotha? Or maybe she was from one of the more isolated convents?

There was a lone seat on his side of the chamber, facing the others. He moved toward it uncertainly, remaining standing.

"Good afternoon, Father Nivard," the Archbishop said, his voice too neutral for John to detect any trace of either hidden approval or censure. "I apologize for keeping you waiting. I imagine you probably have some questions about my purpose in summoning you here today, or for that matter, about your sudden transfer from the Royal Chaplaincy?" Cardiel's tone made this more of a statement than a question.

"I do, Your Excellency," John replied, his anxiety beginning to rise again.

"Please have a seat," the Archbishop invited, settling into his own chair as he spoke. The others followed suit as well. John took his own seat, exerting control over his emotions and schooling himself to calmness.

"Have you any idea at all why you've been called here today?" the Archbishop asked.

The priest thought back on his speculations in the antechamber earlier in the day. "I'm...not sure, Your Excellency."

One of Cardiel's snowy white eyebrows rose. "Then you have at least _some_ inkling?"

John bit his lip, giving the matter more careful consideration. At last, he shook his head. "No, not really. I'd really like to understand why, though."

Watching the young priest carefully, Cardiel clasped his hands, allowing them to rest gently atop a document on the table before him, and stated, voice still carefully neutral, "There has been a charge brought against you claiming that you have abused your priestly office. More specifically, the charge states that you violated the Sacrament of Reconciliation by attempting to coerce or solicit favors from a young woman who had sought you out to request absolution."

The blood drained from Father Nivard's face, and for a few moments he forgot to breathe. "No, that's not true!" he finally burst out. "At least...I wasn't seeking favors..." Sudden color rushed back into his cheeks, turning them scarlet. "Not in the way I _think_ you mean, certainly!" As he spoke, his mental shields detected the simultaneous touch of three other Deryni minds—two quite familiar, one not at all. He realized that they were Truth-Reading him, and he fought down the instinctive impulse to resist their mental probes, knowing it would be in his best interests to allow them to Read the truth of his innocence.

Cardiel gave a quick glance towards the bishops seated beside him. Arilan gave a slow nod, as if in affirmation of something. The archbishop then turned to the young nun, who frowned thoughtfully, looking less certain. "You appear to need more clarification, Sister Lucy," he observed. "Would you prefer to rephrase the question for Father Nivard?"

"I would, Your Excellency. Thank you." She turned her direct gaze onto John, her eyes seeming to stare directly into his soul. "Father Nivard, do you mean that you've never used your priestly office to solicit or coerce sexual favors from a confessant? Or simply that the favors you attempted to procure were of some sort other than of a carnal nature?"

He gaped at the nun. She seemed barely into young womanhood; of all the people gathered before him, he'd have least expected such directness from _her!_ Not even a hint of maidenly discomfiture colored her cheeks as she asked the question, although the same couldn't be said for himself. Belatedly realizing she was still waiting for his answer, he regathered his wits enough to blurt out, "I'd never violate my vows in either of those ways; I'm a _priest!_ "

"I understand that, Father Nivard. And so was the man who sired me, for that matter." At his shocked look, she nodded. "Not all priests honor their vows; surely you're not such an innocent that you don't know _that_ much, even if, as you claim, you've never broken yours." She turned to Archbishop Cardiel. "My mother was Deryni. When her confessor learned her secret, he used that knowledge to force her into submitting to his advances by threatening to betray her secret to his friend the Primate of Valoret and All Gwynedd, who at that time was Edmund Loris. Archbishop Bradene thought my background might make me a good devil's advocate in this case, given that, unlike my episcopal brothers present, I not only have no prior friendship with the accused, I'm also less likely to be biased in favor of leniency should he prove guilty of the charges against him." Her lips turned up slightly at the corners. "Father Nivard _is_ telling the truth, though. So far, at least."

Duncan gave the accused priest an encouraging smile. "Father Nivard, can you shed any light on what might have led to such charges being brought against you?"

Hope flared briefly in John's soul, quickly extinguished as he considered the ramifications of answering the question honestly. "I...can't say, my lord."

The auxiliary bishop looked briefly confused, expecting a more straightforward answer, but before he could rephrase the question, Bishop Arilan nodded with a knowing look in his eyes. "You can't say because you have no idea why such charges might have been brought against you, or is just that you can't say because to explain in any more detail might violate the seal of the confessional?"

John gave the Archbishop a look of mute appeal, hoping for guidance. Cardiel gave him a faint smile. "You're allowed to answer _that_ much at least. I'm sure you can manage to find some way to tell us what we need to know without going into any details that would betray the confessional seal."

He responded with a relieved smile of his own. "It's the latter, Bishop Arilan." He considered his next words very carefully. "I _do_ have some idea why...why someone might have felt upset or angry enough with me to level such accusations, but...due to the circumstances, I'm not free to divulge exactly what might have set her off. I can assure you, though, that I asked for nothing from her that was in any way immoral or improper, nor did I in any way overstep the bounds of my priestly office. I simply made her absolution conditional on her demonstrating true repentance by making proper amends for her sin. " He stole a glance at the young nun, who gave him a wry smile in return before turning to Cardiel.

"His answer is true, or at least _he_ believes it to be true, which is probably the same thing unless you have any cause to believe him subject to delusions. I don't suppose it would be allowable to ask him who might have made the original accusation against him?"

Cardiel shook his head decisively. John stifled his surprise; he had assumed, since there'd been charges brought forward, that the Archbishop would certainly have known who his accuser was already, but apparently that wasn't the case. The Archbishop explained, "The protections of the confessional seal extend beyond merely keeping silent about what a confessant has shared in strict confidence. A priest is not permitted to reveal—whether by speech or even by his actions—anything that he's learned from a confession. To use an example that seminarians are often posed with when learning about ethics, let's imagine that a deacon has just confessed to his priest that he has been stealing money from the church's strongbox, to which only he and that priest have a key. Obviously the priest is not allowed to tell anyone about the deacon's sin; that much about the seal of the confessional is widely known to all. What is less known, however, is that the priest may not even act in such a way that might betray the confessant's actions to others. So in this particular example, the priest cannot simply take away the key, especially if others are aware that his deacon has been given such trust in the past, nor can he replace the strongbox with a different one, lest someone else wonder why and his speculation on the matter cast suspicion on the deacon. The reason for such stringency is that the Church—and its priests by extension—must create absolutely _no_ cause for any sinner, no matter how serious his sins might be, to fear seeking reconciliation with God because others might discover what he has done. Justice is God's province, should He choose to exact judgment, whether spiritual or temporal, for a person's sins, but as the sacramental means by which His gift of absolution may be administered to all who repent of their wrongdoing, a priest's words and actions _must_ be driven by grace and mercy.

"So, applying that reasoning to the matter before us today, we have to be careful about speculation in regards to either who Father Nivard's accuser might be, or why she might have raised such charges against him, lest we misjudge the confessant based on our own suppositions rather than on any proven facts. And of course Father Nivard can't disclose her identity; to do so would immediately let us know that, whatever she might have confessed to him, it was quite likely the sort of sin that carries a severe penance." Cardiel gave a wry smile. "After all, it's unlikely she'd have sought to damage his reputation over a few Paternosters or a brief fast and an admonition to go and sin no more." He glanced at John, adding, "But even _that_ much information is more than Father Nivard ought to reveal, so please don't confirm or deny if my speculation is correct." Turning back to Sister Lucy, the Archbishop concluded, "Suffice it to say, unless the confessant herself decides to come forward and reveal herself, or unless her friend who brought the matter to Bishop Duncan's attention has a change of heart and decides to reveal who confided in her, discovering the woman's identity, much less her motivation, would be difficult."

Duncan shook his head. "I doubt very much that her friend will choose to tell us. She was quite adamant about wanting to protect the confessant." He paused a moment, lost in thought. "Even though the accusations against Father Nivard aren't publicly known, _she_ would have noticed his absence from Court this week, and would likely have guessed the reason for it, and anyone else who might have been given cause to suspect why he's been called away from his regular duties might also surmise that resuming those duties means he's been formally cleared of the charges. So do we return him to the King's chaplaincy and acknowledge, however tacitly, that we've found him innocent? Or should we keep him away a bit longer, or even indefinitely, to preserve the ambiguity of the situation?"

Bishop Arilan pursed his lips in thought. "You're concerned the confessant—or perhaps her friend—might seek some more direct means of retaliation against Father Nivard, and that he ought to be kept from Court a bit longer for his own protection?"

Duncan shrugged. "I know that her friend has no personal animosity towards Father Nivard—it was her concern for the confessant which made her come forward with what _she_ believed to be a true account of Father Nivard's actions towards the confessant—but for that confessant to know what her friend's assumption was and not correct her misunderstanding, to my mind _that_ indicates intentional malice towards Father Nivard." He glanced at Cardiel. "Which, going back to the earlier discussion about priestly ethics, is also a speculative assumption on my part, though I hope you'll allow it's informed speculation based on evidence I've witnessed at least second-hand."

The Archbishop nodded in confirmation. "What Bishop McLain means," he explained for Sister Lucy's and Bishop Arilan's benefit, "is that the friend who informed him of the charges did so by means of...what's it called again? Mind-Sharing?"

"A filtered Sharing, leaving out all identifying details, yes, but I witnessed the memory of that conversation through the informant's eyes and ears, and it's my opinion that she was deliberately misled. Almost anyone seeing and hearing what she had would have come to the same erroneous conclusion. The confessant was aware her friend had reached this conclusion, but did not take the opportunity to set her straight."

"You raise a good point. If we return Father Nivard to his regular duties immediately, that might leave him open to some more direct assault on his character, or possibly even on his person." Cardiel considered the matter, looking lost in thought.

"I'd be glad to make a place for Father Nivard in Dhassa," Bishop Arilan said. "We've worked closely together before, after all, and he's already familiar with the Holy City."

"I'm half tempted to send him back to Dhassa with you, Bishop Arilan, especially if there's little chance of discovering some resolution to this problem soon, but on the other hand, I'm loathe to deprive the King of his chosen confessor on the basis of an angry confessant's spiteful innuendos, and I doubt King Kelson is going to want to have to go through a Portal to Dhassa every time he decides to avail himself of Father John's services." Cardiel pondered John over steepled fingers and sighed. "I suppose, since the charges aren't public knowledge and hopefully won't become so, I can find you a position here in some discreet corner of the Cathedral where you'll stay safely out of sight and hopefully out of mind for the time being, but where the King can call on you more conveniently if he has need."

#

 _Auxiliary Bishop's Tower,  
Saint George's Cathedral  
City of Rhemuth  
October 12, 1136_

It was not the sort of ordination anniversary celebration that John Nivard might have hoped for, secreted away within the Archbishop's Palace as he was, but he was grateful nonetheless. Bishop Duncan had graciously allowed John the use of his apartments in the Auxiliary Bishop's tower of the Archbishop's Palace for the duration of his stay, as Duncan rarely spent the night there himself, preferring to spend his evenings on the Basilica grounds where he could keep a closer eye on what what happening at the Schola.

The guest list was quite limited, of course, as there was little sense in trying to hide John in the middle of Rhemuth if it were to become common knowledge that he was still there, but his closest friends had somehow managed to throw together a small party nonetheless. Denis Arilan had stopped by earlier in the evening with some libations— _not_ Dhassa wine, thank God!—in an effort to make the festivities a little more merry, and to John's surprise Sister Helena had been escorted up as well, accompanied by Lady Sophie and bringing up between them a large hamper that had turned out to contain an assortment of delicacies smuggled out of the Castle kitchens, supplied by Queen Araxie, who had sent her regrets along with the King's, as they would be unable to attend. The note brought a smile to John's face; no, he supposed any attempt by King Kelson to sneak out of his own Castle and attend an impromptu party at the Cathedral would be noted by curious eyes and turned into something resembling more of a state occasion than a mere outing. Poor Kelson; in some ways, he was just as much a captive of his position as John was of his at the moment!

The door opened again, and one of the Cathedral guards entered the chamber to announce the arrival of a "Sister Lucy." John didn't recognize the name, but evidently Denis did, as the bishop nodded his assent to allow the nun in. To his surprise, the woman who entered was the young religious who had been part of the tribunal of inquiry he'd faced the day before. She held out a small fabric-wrapped item, smiling shyly as she handed it to him. "I heard that today is your ordination anniversary. I'm very sorry to have met you under such unfortunate circumstances. I know the questions I put to you yesterday must have seemed harsh, but they were necessary, and I'm very glad you passed the Truth-Reading." She clasped her hands in front of her, looking more awkward and anxious than formidable now that she stood before him, her diminutive height only adding to her appearance of childlikeness.

"No offense taken, Sister Lucy. I understand that you were only doing the job Archbishop Bradene sent you to do." He gestured towards the table of food and wine and the small knot of friends gathered nearby. "Would you care to join us?"

She glanced a trifle wistfully at the gathering, but shook her head. "Thank you, but I can't. Sister Silke is waiting for me. We have a long list of items we've promised to shop for here in Rhemuth to take back to the Sisters of Saint Dymphna." She laughed, suddenly looking much more like one of the Schola's carefree young scholars than the stern-faced inquisitor he'd faced the afternoon before. "And it's been ever so long since I've been allowed out of the convent to enjoy a proper shopping spree, so I'd best enjoy it while I can!" Sister Lucy bowed her farewell and turned to leave. John watched as the guard ushered her back out, then turned his attention to the tiny bundle in his hand, his fingers tugging the cloth wrapping free of its ribbon. He smiled. Nestled within the soft folds was a small olivewood carving of a dove bearing an olive branch.


	24. Part II--Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

 _The Conservatory, Rhemuth Castle Gardens  
October 15, 1136_

Ædwige shivered slightly as she snuggled a little closer to Earl Brendan. "Oh, I wish I'd thought to bring my cloak!"

He wrapped a fold of his around her, pulling her closer to him on the garden bench they shared, his arm around her waist. "How's that?"

"A bit better," she said, resting her cheek against his shoulder.

He chuckled. "I warned you that you'd need a warmer gown, but would you listen?"

She dropped her gaze demurely. "You were right." She sighed. "I ought to have minded you. Papa always said I need a keeper." She gave him a sidelong glance, then ducked her head in a shy smile.

Brendan made no answer to that leading statement, merely leaning forward a bit to poke a stick into the hot brazier before them, stirring up the blaze within it so it would shed more heat. When he looked back at her, he found her watching him admiringly.

"You're such a gentleman," she observed.

"What makes you say that?"

She smiled at him, then glanced away coyly. "Oh, it's just...we're all alone in here, and...well...most men would have tried to steal a kiss by now..." She peeked swiftly up at him then back down, blushing.

Brendan looked around the conservatory, as if just now noticing how private their surroundings were at the moment. "Why, so we are!" He arched a brow at her, giving her a teasing smile. "And are you hoping for a kiss, or am I likely to get slapped if I risk stealing one?"

Ædwige giggled. "Well, from _you_ , I might not mind." She gave him a coy smile.

Brendan gave her a considering look, pondering her offer. After what he'd overheard between her and Sivney nearly a fortnight earlier, he was hardly fool enough to think her affections were exclusively engaged by himself, but neither could she be too seriously attached to Sivney if she were willing to offer her kisses—and from the sounds he'd overheard, possibly a great deal more—to another man. Well, hell, why not indulge in a little loveplay, then, since she was offering? He might not be in the market for a wife yet, and he was growing steadily more convinced that even if he were, Ædwige would be a far from suitable choice, but on the other hand he _was_ nineteen, and the lovely lass had made it quite clear with her recent flirtations that she was willing enough to offer him a few simple pleasures without requiring any matrimonial ties from him first. That suited him just fine; while he wasn't ready for a wife yet, he _was_ extremely interested in getting kissed now and then—what man his age wasn't? He pulled her closer to him, tilting his face towards hers. "In that case, sweeting, I would hate to disappoint a lady."

#

 _Storeroom, Rhemuth Castle southern gatehouse  
October 16, 1136_

"What kept you?" Ædwige murmured between impassioned kisses. "You're late!"

Sivney pulled back slightly to meet her gaze, cupping her face in his hands. "I'm sorry, lovely. It's my cousin Oswin's birthday today, and the Queen held a small celebration for him, since this is his first birthday away from home and he's a bit homesick. I couldn't get away any sooner." His hands dropped lower to caress her form through the layers of wool and linen she wore. "I'm here now, though."

"Mm. So you are." She gave a low, quiet laugh, tightening her arms around him. She peered past his shoulder at the closed door behind him, then frowned, pulling back with a small moue of annoyance. "Sivney, you forgot _again!_ "

"Forgot what?" he asked. Turning to follow her glare, he gave her a sheepish grin. "Oh. Sorry, I didn't mean to. Just a little impatient to be here with you." He walked over to the closed door and opened it a few inches, reaching through the gap to take the key out of the lock and lock the door from the inside.

"Well, you mustn't forget to lock the door behind you when we meet here!" Ædwige scolded. "It's bad enough you've had to bribe one of the guards to 'not notice' we're using this storeroom. What if he tells someone we're trysting up here?" He couldn't, of course—Ædwige had seen to that by carefully blurring that part of the guard's memory—but Sivney wasn't aware of that. "But if someone _else_ were to walk in on us, that would compromise us entirely!"

Sivney lifted his hands in surrender. "All right, all right, you've made your point," he said, sounding a little cross. "I won't forget next time." Why she couldn't have just slipped the key out of the damned lock herself, he had no idea, but arguing the point with her would hardly result in sweetening her mood. He reached for her again. "Let's make up, shall we, my sweet?" He caught her up in his arms again, squeezing her waist, then drew back with a slight laugh. "I can tell your return to Rhemuth is agreeing with you."

"Why do you say that?" Ædwige asked, puzzled.

He gave her a teasing grin. "There's a little more of you to squeeze now than there used to be. Did they not feed you enough at Eddington Manor?"

Her mind frantically sought some appropriate response, though thankfully he required none, for moments later his lips descended hungrily upon hers, and she gratefully distracted him from any further inquiry along those lines.

#

 _Abbot's Tower, St. Hilary's Basilica  
October 17, 1136_

Ædwige studied her reflection critically in the small polished brass disk that served as her mirror. Angling it slightly to catch a better view of her form, she frowned. Her pregnancy was finally beginning to show, her belly beginning to bulge just slightly and her waist starting to thicken. Her breasts had grown more also; that change had come first, but she hadn't minded that so much. She stifled a grin as the random thought struck her that Sivney hadn't seemed to mind that change either.

But now...no, there was no avoiding the painful truth any longer. She was starting to look a little fat. That in itself wasn't so bad—a lot of men found a bit of plumpness pleasing—but soon she'd move beyond the 'fashionably fertile-looking' stage and there'd be no hiding the fact that she was, in fact, bearing. And she still hadn't managed to work up to letting either Brendan or Sivney know about the child she was carrying. She would have to approach it in just the right way, she knew, so that she wouldn't scare either suitor off. Though what would be the best way to go about that?

She pondered the matter a bit longer, considering what she knew of the two men. As an idea dawned, a smile crossed her face. Yes, that might work! She put the mirror back in its case, whistling a merry tune as she finished dressing for the day.

#

 _Rhemuth Castle Parklands  
October 18, 1136_

"You look awfully cheerful this evening," Earl Brendan commented as he encountered his childhood friend Lord Sivney on the pathway leading between the Basilica grounds and the Castle's southern gatehouse. "Where have you been?"

Sivney cast a quick look behind him to make sure no one else was in earshot, then moved slightly closer to his friend. "Can you keep a secret?" he asked in a low, conspiratorial voice.

"I can probably manage that," Brendan said with a grin.

"It's not where I've been tonight, but where I'm headed. Or, rather, who I'm planning to meet with."

"Ah." Humor sparkled in the young Earl of Marley's eyes. "Yet another of your conquests? A little early for your usual...amusements, isn't it?" Brendan glanced up at the sky. "Not quite dark yet."

Sivney rolled his eyes, looking a trifle annoyed. "Yes, unfortunately; late nights won't work for my lady. She...ah...shares her chamber with someone who would take note of her absence if she stays out too long after dark." He cast a glance upwards at the slowly darkening sky as well. "And I'm losing valuable time as it is, so if you'll excuse me..."

A hand on his sleeve stopped him. "Your new amorata, Siv...she wouldn't happen to be a very appealing blonde widow who's newly returned to the Schola, would she?

The Queen's half-brother gave Brendan a startled look. "Um...why do you ask?"

Brendan studied his friend's face intently. "Just tell me this much before I answer that. Are you serious about her? As a possible wife, I mean? Or are you just having a bit of fun?"

Sivney gave a short laugh, flashing a grin at his friend. "As a _wife?_ Hell, no! I won't even be seventeen yet until the end of the month; why would I saddle myself with a wife before I have to?!" He gave Brendan a curious look. "And yes, it's Ædwige I've been dallying with. Why, were you hoping to court her?" Sivney looked dubious. "I enjoy the lady's company, but...let's just say I don't think you'd find her a suitable Countess for Marley."

"Court her?" Brendan shook his head. "No, definitely not, at least not with marriage in mind. It's just..." The amused look returned to his eyes. "How do I say this, Siv?" He clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Try not to tire her out _too_ badly tonight; I'm supposed to take her out riding in the morning." The mirth in his eyes flashed through the rest of his features as he grinned. "And yes, on a _horse_ , lest your mind fall completely into the gutter. I'd not recommend any other sort of riding with her, unless you've brought along a sausage casing or two for your protection." He shook his head. "If she's been playing with us both, there's no telling how many others she's been stringing along as well, and there are some ailments you do _not_ want to have to ask Sister Therese for a cure for!"

 _#_

 _Storeroom, Rhemuth Castle southern gatehouse  
October 18, 1136_

Ædwige gave a considering frown over Sivney's shoulder as he leaned forward to kiss her neck. He'd been reasonably attentive tonight, yet she couldn't help but think he seemed oddly distracted. Surely her hold on him couldn't be slipping so soon? That would hardly do, not when she hadn't fully secured Earl Brendan yet, at any rate. Perhaps once she'd gotten a declaration of love from Brendan, or at the very least, coaxed a betrothal out of him, she could afford to let Sivney's interest in her slip away.

But _why_ was it waning? Perhaps Sivney was simply tired of being held back in his passions for so long, and was starting to wonder if his pursuit was worth the wait? If that was the case, Ædwige could certainly give the man a little more of a reward for his pains. By now, she'd certainly learned other effective ways to make their trysts pleasurable for Sivney as well as for herself without having to resort to giving in to everything he wanted, but he was growing more insistent in wanting more, and in truth she was tired of stopping him just at the most enjoyable moments of their shared game. What was the point? It wasn't like she could get any more pregnant than she was already, after all, and if giving in to his entreaties would serve to secure his affections even more strongly...

Yes, maybe it was time for her to allow him to have what he wanted. But would he lose interest in her after that? She doubted it, at least not if she played this right. Maybe she should give in to him every once in a while, just often enough to keep him wanting more of her. Now that her pursuit of Brendan was beginning to come along nicely, she'd not want to encourage Sivney _too_ much, but on the other hand she'd hate to lose him altogether before her betrothal to the young earl became a certainty.

"I'm glad you were able to arrive a little earlier tonight," she crooned, stepping away from him just slightly so she could reach a hand between them to tug at the lacings of her gown. "But now that we've got a little time and privacy to ourselves for once, I think we're both a little bit overdressed, don't you?" She gave him a teasing smile as she loosened the ties to her gown, allowing it to slip down to reveal creamy skin through her sheer chemise. "I have a little confession to make, Sivney. I'm afraid I've not been fully honest with you."

He raised a blond eyebrow at her. "Have you not, sweeting?" Sivney's hand came up to land on her shoulder, gently pushing the fabric of her gown a bit lower as the growing gap in her bodice opened wider. The young lord grinned as he admired the increasingly interesting view afforded by her déshabille. "About what?"

She cast her gaze downwards demurely as her gown slithered off her shoulders. "I've been afraid to allow you my full favor because I was afraid you might...well... _we_ might create a baby," she murmured, "but now I've come to realize I needn't have worried about that..."

Sivney smiled indulgently as he began to tug on the lacing to her chemise. "No, I know a few tricks to prevent that sort of thing from happening. I wish you'd told me sooner; I'd gladly have reassured you much earlier, had I known that was the reason for your reluctance."

She raised a hand to lay it lightly upon his, stilling its motion. "But there's another reason you needn't worry about that, darling. You see..." Ædwige smiled up at him nervously, hoping she hadn't misjudged him. "As it turns out, I'm carrying the Eddington heir." At his surprised look, she colored, dropping her gaze again and doing her best to look abashed. "I...hope that doesn't deter you. I didn't want to say anything until I was sure—and truth be told, I rather hoped that I _wasn't!_ —but since it now appears that I am, at least now I know I can give myself to you freely without any fear of...of us being caught in our secret by you giving me a child." She lifted her hand off his, shifting it downward slightly to tug at her chemise lacing herself. "Do you mind terribly that I'm bearing, knowing that I'm freer to offer myself to you now?"

Sivney's gaze was irresistibly drawn to the shadowed cleft in the opening which appeared in the fine white cambric shift, and the tantalizing glimpse was nearly tempting enough to distract him from her words, but then his conversation with Brendan earlier in the evening returned to his mind. He supposed it didn't matter too much to him one way or another if the wench was breeding, since he'd never planned on offering for her in any case. Knowing in advance that she was carrying another man's child at least saved him the worry of thinking the child was _his,_ and her revelation of that fact now meant that she could hardly use her pregnancy against him later in an effort to force him into marriage. No, that's not what made him hesitate just as he was on the brink of accepting her offer. Was this child actually Sir Gilrae of Eddington's, as she claimed? Or had she been playing him false with other men as well, and now that she was filling with child, she hoped to pass it off as a posthumous heir? He hadn't met Ædwige's late husband, but he'd met the late knight's heir apparent a time or two at Court events, and the man hardly deserved to be deprived of his inheritance by such a deception, if indeed it _were_ a deception. He hoped it wasn't; Sivney found the possibility troubling.

That, and the sudden deep certainty that the young widow had been toying with him all along. True, he had been toying with her as well, but now it dawned on him that he really didn't like the idea of being played with. He frowned slightly. What was wrong with him? Now that what he'd been working up to was well within his grasp, why did he suddenly not want her?

Well, no, that wasn't entirely true. Part of him still _did_ want her, just...these weren't the terms he'd envisioned. He needed more time to think.

He looked back up at her face and realized that she was still waiting for his answer. Sivney made himself smile in assumed nonchalance as he lifted her fingertips to his lips.

"No, sweeting, I'm hardly in a position to mind if you're bearing Sir Gilrae's heir, and as you say, it will make our dalliance much less risky. But I certainly wouldn't want to risk causing any harm to the baby. Perhaps you should check with a healer first to make sure it's all right for us to...you know...?" He favored her with a teasing wink and a smile.

Ædwige looked startled. "Oh, I'm sure it's all right! And anyway, who am I supposed to ask? Sister Therese? If I did, she'd only want to know why, and I can hardly tell _her_ I mean to let you bed me!"

He began lacing up her chemise again, relieved to have found a way to put her off long enough to buy himself more time so he could think this situation through. "Oh, I'm certain you'll come up with _some_ solution, my sweet. You're such a clever lass."

 _#_

 _Sheltered grove beside the Via Romana, just south of Rhemuth  
October 25, 1136_

The young widow seated in the Earl of Marley's lap had been responding quite ardently to his kisses, but now she leaned away slightly with a quiet sigh. "When is it that you have to return to Marley again?" she asked.

"The end of next week," Brendan replied. "Why?"

"Oh...I just wish I could go with you, that's all." She trailed her fingertips down his chest. "I know I _can't_ , of course—Bishop McLain would hardly allow it. Just think of the scandal!" She dimpled up at him briefly before sobering again. "But you're going back to take care of your estate, and I wish..." Ædwige allowed her voice to trail off wistfully.

Brendan leaned against an old oak tree, cuddling with Ædwige under the shelter of his shared cloak. "Wish what, my lady?" he asked gently.

She cast her gaze down modestly. "Oh, I just wish I knew more about how to manage my late husband's lands, that's all. _You_ were raised to be Earl of Marley, after all, so at least when you came into your inheritance, I'm sure you already knew what to do, right? But _I_ never expected to have to..." She turned her face away from him slightly, calling up big tears to shimmer becomingly in her sky-blue eyes before turning back towards him, dabbing ineffectually at them with one finger. "How was I to know I'd be a widow so soon after becoming a wife?" She carefully inserted just the right note of plaintiveness into the question. It wouldn't do at all to sound petulant—that was entirely the wrong effect. "I just...I'm not sure I know how to handle such a big responsibility. Not by myself, anyway." She shrugged, doing her best to look forlorn and vulnerable. "If only I had someone to help me learn, or...or to manage my estate for me..."

Brendan gave her a questioning look. "Are you referring to your dower lands? I thought Eddington had passed down to your brother-in-law?"

She looked back up at him, feigning surprise at the question. "No...Oh wait, hasn't Briony mentioned it to you?" Looking flustered, she shook her head. "No, of course she wouldn't have; I'm not sure I've even told _her_ yet! The Eddington inheritance is still unsettled." She bit her lip, not needing to feign looking anxious, since she was genuinely nervous about how the young Earl might react to her next statement. Sivney's reaction, after all, had not exactly gone as she'd hoped it would. "Brendan...I have reason to believe I might be with child." She laid her hand on his arm, gazing up at him with a look of appeal. "And...and I'm terrified! It's just all so much and so _soon_ , and I have no one to share it all with!"

The Earl of Marley gave her a considering look. "With child? _Are_ you, now?" A faint smile lurked at the corners of his lips. "How fortunate for you! Is it Sir Gilrae's baby or Lord Sivney's?"

"Is it..." Her jaw dropped as she stared at him, outraged color flying into her cheeks. "My Earl of Marley!" she exclaimed.

"No, it's most definitely _not_ the Earl of Marley's, I'm afraid, because I've never been _that_ drunk or foolish," he countered, a gleam entering his cornflower blue eyes. "And I'm not at all blind, Lady Ædwige. Or at least not deaf." He gently deposited her from his lap and stood to leave. "If I might offer a word of advice, lovely? When you're sporting with more than one man, and you don't wish them to know about each other, it's best not to arrange your dalliances in a public park. And better yet if the men you've set your sights on aren't even acquainted with each other, much less friends from early childhood." He took her hand as she gaped up at him, giving the air above her fingertips a courtly kiss. "If you need help with learning about estate management, I'll be happy to refer you to several helpful resources at the Royal Library. But if you're hoping for someone besides your steward to help you manage your lands, I'm afraid you're chasing after the wrong man. Happy hunting, lady fair!"


	25. Part II--Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

 _Saint Hilary's Basilica  
October 31, 1136—morning_

"You have a letter from your steward, Lady Ædwige," Brother Everard told the young widow of Eddington as he handed a folded parchment into her keeping.

The young woman broke open the seal, only mildly curious, as the Schola's scribe turned from her chamber door. Unfolding the letter, her eyes swiftly perused its contents, pausing after the introductory paragraphs to give it a closer read. She frowned, refolding the missive and tucking it into her bodice.

"Is there a problem?" Princess Rothana asked as Ædwige looked back up again, reaching for her veil pins to secure her black veil to its head bands.

"Hm?" Ædwige glanced in her roommate's direction briefly, then studied her reflection in the mirror again. "Oh. You mean with the letter? It's just...some manorial business that has come up. My steward wrote to keep me informed." She adjusted one of her veil pins until she was satisfied with the drape of the fabric framing her fair features, then turned to scoop up her kitten. "I've finished reading for Magistra Helena's exam on the esoteric symbology involved in ritual magic, so I'm going to take a short break. Bootsy and I are heading outside to the courtyard to enjoy the sunshine," she informed the Princess as she reached for a light cloak to ward off the mild chill of a fair afternoon in autumn.

"Here, let me help you with that," Rothana said, rising from her seat to drape the circular garment over the younger woman's shoulders, clasping it at her neck. "Shall I pull the edge of your veil out from under your cloak, or are you planning on wearing your hood up?"

"No, leave it down; it's not that cold outside yet. Thank you." Ædwige reached up and deftly freed the veil fabric herself with one hand, still cradling Boots with the other.

"Will you be back by Vespers?" Rothana asked her roommate.

Ædwige turned slightly to hide a moue of annoyance. "I should be, Your Highness."

Rothana resumed her seat, taking up her needlework once more. "Good; I'll save a place for you at Mass."

#

Ædwige leaned against the stone wall in one shadowy corner of the cloistered walk, burying her face in Bootsy's fur. She needed a moment to think about the strange message that Martin, her steward at Eddington, had sent to her. It had started out trivial enough. Something about one of Gilrae's relatives dying—his aged mother, as it happened—and the family crypt being reopened in preparation for entombing her remains. Martin had wanted to know if Ædwige could be there for the elder dowager's funeral, but really, why would she bother? She'd barely even known the woman, after all. Gilrae's mother had been in attendance on their wedding day and for the first month after, but once Ædwige had settled in as lady of the manor, she'd coaxed and wheedled until her husband had found another, more suitable residence where the old biddy could relocate. Eddington Manor was just too small for two ladies of the household to reside under its roof.

But then there'd been the odd bit towards the end of the letter, in which Martin had mentioned that Gilrae's corpse hadn't started rotting yet. "A most unusual state of preservation," he'd called it in his message, and apparently quite baffling to the man, though Ædwige couldn't fathom why. With the weather turning colder, that might retard the effects of decay, mightn't it? At least she thought that's how root cellars were supposed to work, though perhaps that was oversimplifying the matter. She wouldn't have given that matter a second thought either, except that the overzealous idiot was asking her if he ought to call in the coroner to have a look at Gilrae's remains again. That certainly would not do, not at all. She didn't think there was any way that the coroner would be able to tell what she'd done—certainly not at this late date. But why take any chances?

No, it appeared she'd have to return to Eddington for a short visit, just to make sure Martin minded his own business and didn't go and do something irredeemably stupid. She'd need to request leave to go home, of course, and her late mother-in-law's funeral would give sufficient cause for that request to be granted, so perhaps the wizened old hag's life hadn't been a complete waste after all. And she'd need to bring someone along to serve as chaperone. Briony, perhaps? No, she doubted that the Rector would allow that. It would probably have to be one of the magistrae instead. Oh well, perhaps Sister Helena could accompany her. They'd only need to miss a few days of Schola classes, after all.

Ædwige began to compose her reply to her steward's missive in her head as she continued along the cloister walk. _Unto Martin Steward from Lady Ædwige of Eddington come these greetings. I am making the necessary arrangements to return home for Lady Catherine's funeral as soon as a suitable escort can be arranged. In the meantime, there is no need to trouble anyone over the matter of the odd discovery you mentioned in your message to me. I am certain there is a perfectly natural explanation for such an occurrence, but since it is a_ little _strange, I shall bring with me one of the magistri from the Schola who would be better suited for such an investigation than some coroner better trained in law than in physick. I shall send word to you regarding when to expect our arrival once we are on our way..._

#

 _City of Rhemuth, the Gold Lion Tavern  
October 31, 1136—mid-afternoon_

"Morgan? Your Grace, is that you?"

Alaric Morgan looked up from the bowl of stew he was eating. He smiled in recognition as he recognized the speaker, waving him closer and offering him a seat at his table. "Danoc! What brings you into the City?"

Aubrey Gillespie, the Earl of Danoc, sat down facing the Duke of Corwyn, flashing the tavern maid an easy smile as he placed a small coin on the table. "I've been to visit my tailor," he explained as the woman approached. Turning to her, he placed his order for a bowl of the daily special and the tavern's best ale, waiting until she left before continuing his conversation with the Duke. "Though I might ask you the same thing. I thought you wouldn't be back at Court until closer to Christmas?"

Alaric took a sip of his drink. "I'm not, officially. But there's a lecture at the Schola I want to attend tonight, and when I _do_ make the occasional day-trip to Rhemuth, I try to get as much done during my visit as possible."

The Earl laughed. " _Day-tripping_ between Coroth and Rhemuth! You know, only a Deryni could say that with a straight face." He shook his head in mock sadness. "I don't suppose you could enspell my horse or something? Give me seven-league boots? Make all the roads to and from Danoc shrink to half their length? Unless I'm visiting my sister-in-law, in which case twice as long would be better."

Alaric chuckled. "Sorry, can't help with any of those goals. I'm afraid my powers have definite limits. Don't believe every rumor and folk tale you hear about Deryni magic."

The tavern wench returned with Danoc's stew. He stirred it, setting it aside to cool slightly as she topped off his tankard and returned to the kitchen. "Speaking of rumors of magic, Morgan, there's an odd story that's come to my attention, and it's one that's cropped up in my own Earldom, in fact." He took a sip of his ale, studying its depths afterward. "Nice brew." He looked back up at the Deryni duke, adding quietly, "Can you think of any reason why a man who died and was buried during the height of the summer's heat would still look just as whole nearly three months later, as if he'd just died within the past hour?"

Alaric frowned, trying to imagine such a thing. It wasn't difficult; the mere question brought back his last vision of King Brion, trapped in some form of magical stasis and in a guise that was not his own, although that didn't seem to be the sort of enchantment the Earl of Danoc was describing. There were the more usual preservations spells that Deryni often used to hold off decay for just a few days, long enough to allow friends and family to be summoned home for a funeral without their loved one's body deteriorating too badly before the interment. And there were those burial rituals practiced by the Servants of Saint Camber as well. Practiced correctly and with the proper materials, they'd had some preserving effect upon the bodies of the recently deceased, although given enough time, the spells worked with such cording magics eventually lost their potency. But surely there weren't any Deryni in Danoc's earldom who still practiced such ancient lore? "No, I can't think of anything," he said cautiously. "Can you tell me more? Perhaps Duncan might know."

The Earl took a few bites of his stew, washing it down with another mouthful of ale before continuing. "Well, one of my knights died back in early August...I don't suppose you knew Sir Gilrae of Eddington?"

Alaric paused to consider. "Only vaguely. He was in ill health for some years, as I recall, wasn't he? I know his brother Lord Robert slightly better."

"Yes, Sir Gilrae had a heart condition." Danoc grinned. "Although that didn't stop him from taking a new bride this past January. Pretty little maid from one of the Earl of Jenas's knights' manors, one of your cousin's Schola students, as a matter of fact, before her father sent for her to leave off her studies and wed Eddington. Gilrae and I were age-mates; my brother Perrey was half afraid I'd get it in my mind to dredge up some sweet young thing myself and discover the joys of matrimonial bliss at long last, though God knows I'm content enough living and dying an old bachelor and leaving Danoc to him and his lads when I'm gone." The older man laughed. "But in any case, that's neither here nor there. Sir Gilrae, as I said, died back in August and was apparently prepared for burial and entombed in the usual way—I wasn't there, actually, but my manservant Bailey's sister is married to the Eddington steward, and she said nothing out of the ordinary in the account of the funeral she sent in her letter to him that month, nor did the knight's widow mention any unusual circumstances in the message she sent to inform me of her husband's death. She _did_ say that she thought she might be breeding, which her sister-in-law later confirmed, so at the moment the Eddington inheritance is still up in the air... not that _that_ seems relevant..." The Earl took another bite of his stew. "At any rate, I would have thought nothing of the event—Eddington's death seemed normal enough, given his ailments—but then Bailey got another letter from his sister this past weekend. It seems her husband had the Eddington family crypt opened back up to prepare a place for Lady Catherine, Sir Gilrae's mother, to be entombed near her son, and that's when Martin Steward discovered Sir Gilrae's remarkable state of preservation."

Alaric considered the matter. "Very strange. And what does your coroner say about it all?"

Danoc barked a short laugh. "He verifies the man's still dead." The Earl grinned. "Honestly, Morgan, Master Hugh is competent enough at most of his duties, and you won't find a more loyal Crowner, but unless presented with something fairly obvious in the way of a mortal injury, like a gaping neck wound or a great lump on the head, he's bloody useless when it comes to determining causes of death. And natural or wrongful causes of death are all that really concern him, not lack of decay, it seems. He says he can find no reason to think the man's death was caused by anything but heart failure, but if a physician or some other learned man can show reason to believe otherwise, he's willing to reopen the case."

Alaric rested his steepled fingers lightly against his lips, deep in thought. "Do you happen to know if the Eddington crypt is inside a cavern?" Cave systems, he knew, could maintain fairly cool temperatures year-round, although as soon as he asked the question, he knew that no cave tomb maintained a temperature low enough to retard decomposition for as long as the span of time Danoc had just described, especially given the damp conditions to be found in most caverns.

The Earl shook his head. "No, it's a simple burial vault beneath a small above-ground mausoleum that serves as an entryway. Damned if I can think of why Sir Gilrae's body is in such good shape after this length of time. If it weren't for his pallor, not to mention his lack of breathing or a heartbeat, you'd almost think he was just taking a good, long nap."

The Duke raised a blond eyebrow. "So you've actually seen his body? Or is that just what his steward has reported?"

Danoc shook his head. "I had to confirm the report for myself, so I stopped by Eddington Manor on my way here. All was exactly as Martin Steward's wife reported in her letter." He shook his head. "It's a right queer case, I don't mind saying."

Alaric nodded. "Sounds like it." He tried to keep his voice casual. "Mind if I take a peek at what you saw?"

It took a moment for the full implication of the question to register. At first the Earl hesitated, looking slightly wary. He cast a quick glance around the room, but no one seemed to be paying him or the Duke any notice. Danoc turned back to Alaric.

"I...suppose I could show you, though I don't know how that sort of thing works." He took a quick swallow of his ale, looking vaguely uneasy.

The Duke gave him a reassuring smile. "You needn't do anything aside from grant me permission, Danoc. It would only take a second or two at most for me to access the memory, and it won't cause you any discomfort; in fact, I doubt you'd even feel a thing. And if you're truly uncomfortable about the idea, you don't have to share your thoughts with me at all. I realize that sort of thing is far beyond the ordinary for you."

The Earl took a deep breath. "Well, I really _would_ prefer to get to the bottom of all this. Sir Gilrae was more than just a loyal knight in my service, he was a friend." He gave Alaric a sheepish smile. "I trust you, Morgan; forgive me if I seem a little old-fashioned. I'm just not used to having anyone offer to poke around in my mind. So, what should I do, just picture Gil in my mind or something?"

Alaric glanced past Danoc for a moment, ensuring that the few other patrons in the tavern were all too involved in their own conversations or engrossed in enjoying their meals to notice what the two noblemen in the corner were doing. "Yes, that would help," he assured the Earl, although strictly speaking Morgan knew that any effort on Danoc's part was unnecessary. He allowed his foot to drift forward beneath the table, making light contact with Danos's boot to make establishing a link with him easier. Another moment was all that it took for him to glean the information he needed from the man's mind, although he pretended to concentrate a few seconds longer than absolutely required in order to avoid spooking the older man unduly. No need for him to show off how ridiculously easy it was for him to enter the unshielded human's mind, after all; the man was skittish enough of his powers as it was, at least when it came to them being used on himself! Once he was done, Alaric sat back, taking another thoughtful sip from his tankard.

"Interesting. Would you mind if I share what you've told and shown me with Bishop Duncan? As I mentioned earlier, he might have some ideas about what might have caused such a phenomenon. Perhaps something in the Schola's Library might shed a bit of light on the question. I can't promise that, of course, but it wouldn't hurt to ask. Or there might be some perfectly natural cause, of course, though I have no idea what that might be. The Schola's Infirmarian might, though, or one of the Royal Physicians. Or, for that matter, the Healer Magister may have some knowledge of what might be causing it. It's his class I've come to Rhemuth to attend this evening. He might have a few insights, if Sister Therese doesn't."

Danoc looked relieved. "No, I wouldn't mind you sharing the question at all; the more light shed on the mystery, the better, I suppose." He grinned. "I knew Sir Gilrae far too well to simply assume his incorruptible body is due to some miracle; he was a good man, but far from a saint! There's got to be some perfectly rational explanation for his unusual preservation, though I'm buggered if _I_ can figure out what that might be. If someone _does_ come up with an answer, would you let me know?"

Alaric nodded. "Absolutely."

#

 _St Hilary's Basilica-Rector's Study  
October 31, 1136-late afternoon_

Alaric peeked through the door of the scriptorium where his cousin the rector stood poring over a fresh copy of an ancient Deryni manuscript that Brother Everard, the scribe, had only recently pieced together from fragments of the original. Beside him stood Sister Helena, also perusing the manuscript copy, although she appeared to be distracted from her reading, judging by the quirk of her lips and her shaking shoulders. The duke guessed she was attempting not to burst out laughing. Either the Ancients were masters of joviality, or else Duncan was Mind-Speaking something to the magistra that had nothing to do with the text before them.

Duncan apparently sensed his presence at that moment, for his cousin looked up from the page to beckon him into the chamber, a glint of humor lightening his blue eyes. "Come on in," Duncan said, matching words to gesture.

Alaric joined them at the table, peering down at the text they were allegedly studying. "And what is so amusing about...what is this?... _Principia de Magia Acroatica Airsidi_?"

"Not all that much; it's fairly dry reading, actually." Duncan stole a look at Helena, who burst into giggles. "I was just telling Sister Helena about my very rude awakening this morning."

"Oh? What happened, did Liath try to clean out your ears with her raspy tongue again?"

"No, this was worse. I woke up to find her curled up inside my braies."

Alaric stole a look at Helena, who had lifted a lightly curled fist to her lips in an effort to hold back a laugh. "I see. I suppose it's too much to hope that you'd simply forgotten to put up your fresh laundry last night?"

"Oh, no, unfortunately it was nothing like that. I was still wearing the braies at the time. They were...a rather snug fit, with the extra occupant." His cousin gave him a pained look.

Helena gave up her battle, howling with mirth. Duncan sent a visual of the furry little intruder into Alaric's mind. He laughed also, his brows rising. "Tell me you didn't share _that_ image with Sister Helena as well!"

"No!" Duncan said decisively, shaking his head in mock sadness. "And it's not funny; you have _no_ idea how terrifying it is to wake up with a sharp-clawed feline guarding your family treasures! For a few horrified moments, I was afraid I might permanently revisit my days of being a boy soprano."

Alaric smirked. "Well, I suppose there are still a _few_ valuables a priest can't simply lock away for safekeeping inside the church armarium. May I take it from the fact that you're still standing upright that Liath left you at least _relatively_ intact, or should I summon your Infirmarian?"

"Jesú, that's not even remotely humorous, Alaric!" Duncan exclaimed, dancing eyes belying his attempt at a scowl as Helena choked down another peal of laughter.

The duke grinned briefly, though he sobered as the thought of a healer brought an earlier memory to the forefront of his mind. "Speaking of healers, Duncan, the Earl of Danoc mentioned a rather interesting case to me earlier today. Let me show you what he shared with me—and I can share it with you too, Sister Helena, if you don't mind. Maybe one of you may have come across something in your studies that might shed a little light upon his mystery?

#

 _Saint Camber Schola Infirmary  
October 31, 1136—evening_

"This evening we will discuss common poisons, some of the more effective antidotes or treatments for them, and also which so-called 'preventatives' and 'remedies' for poisoning are mere folk tale and completely ineffective. One thing we must also keep in mind is that even the most beneficial of medications can become a poison if administered in the wrong dosage. But there are also those potions that are far too perilous for any reputable Healer to administer to a patient in any dosage at all, and some which may be administered only externally and in limited amounts. Some of these potions might have benign uses, such as the need for keeping vermin at bay, although extreme care must be taken not to allow them to come into direct contact with any persons who might be harmed by exposure to these toxins. And of course, there is always the possibility of malevolent use of poisons as an instrument of murder, which a vigilant Healer must always take pains to guard against and should recognize the signs to look for if such usage is suspected."

Helena listened carefully as Master Janos continued his lecture, taking careful notes as he spoke. Nearby, his apprentice opened a locked box and began to set out what appeared to be pressed and preserved samples of various herbs that a Healer's discerning eye must learn to recognize as potentially deadly, along with a few samples of more harmless herbs which looked very similar to their poisonous counterparts.

"In addition to man-made poisons or accidental ingestions of the wrong herbs, there are the more commonplace causes for poisoning. Foul or stagnant water can kill a man just as surely as hellebore or aconite, as can consumption of food that has turned foul or that has been prepared in unclean conditions. Even water which appears to be clear and pure may contain unseen foulness that can make a man ill, so that is why, if one is unsure of the purity of one's water source—especially if traveling away from familiar areas—it is best to add equal parts wine or ale to one's water if one must drink any. Or better yet, drink the wine or ale unmixed with the local water."

Master Janos reached into his open box and began to pull out a set of small vials, lining them up on the table before them. "And then there are the accidental poisonings due to ignorance. Take for example the folly of the Butcher of Sostra about a century past. Is anyone here familiar with what happened there?"

Most of the Healer scholars looked blank, but Sister Therese nodded. "They had a rash of mortweed poisonings there among the population, didn't they?"

Janos smiled. "Yes. Unlike most cases of such poisoning, this was quite widespread, and the source of it difficult to track at first. It was eventually traced to Butchers' Row. One of the butchers there had discovered a clever means—well, _he_ thought it was clever, at any rate—of preserving raw meat so that it would remain fresher than any of his competitors' fare. He had noticed that the bodies of animals that had died of eating mortweed would sometimes lie in the sun for weeks or even longer without decaying, if the poor beast had managed to eat enough of the weed before succumbing to its fatal effects, and if for some reason it had not been burned or buried sooner. He decided that there had to be some way to use this herb to his advantage that would help him keep his meat fresh, but which wouldn't end up killing off his customers. After some experimentation with mortweed tinctures in increasingly lower levels of concentration, he finally hit upon a very weak solution which, if he soaked his meat in it immediately after the beasts were butchered, would preserve it very well, but which would not kill a dog or a pig who ate the meat preserved with this solution." He smiled encouragingly at Sister Therese. "Do you know what went wrong with his clever plan?"

She gave him a wry smile of her own. "He hadn't counted on the toxins building up in his customers' bodies over time."

"That's right." Janos nodded. "A strange thing began to be noted in the town of Sostra. When certain people died—not _all_ the townspeople, but a fairly large number of them—their corpses remained unusually well preserved, sometimes for years, before the onset of natural decay. There were also an increase in serious illnesses and deaths, though oddly enough, it turned out that a few of the butcher's customers ended up having no adverse effects and may have even developed an immunity to mortweed poisoning...not that anyone was willing to deliberately test that theory." The healer gave a wry grin. "At any rate, this is all going rather far afield of our original topic, but it serves as an excellent example of how even well-meaning ignorance can lead to ill results."

Master Janos continued on with his lecture, but Helena's attention drifted away from his new topic of conversation as her mind continued to focus on the story he had just shared. Mortweed...there was something about mortweed that was lurking in the back of her memory just out of reach, but she couldn't figure out what it was. It bothered her that she couldn't remember; she had the vague sense that whatever the elusive memory might be, it must be something important, or why would she feel such an odd sense of foreboding about it?

She glanced up at Duncan, whose face seemed to mirror her own feelings. He frowned slightly, his unfocused gaze staring into space rather than fixed on their magister with his usual keen attention. As she watched, he absently brought up a hand to stroke his chin, looking vaguely puzzled.

 _What's wrong, cariad?_ she Mind-Spoke to him.

The blue eyes drifted to her face, lighting briefly in response to her mental touch. _I'm...not sure._ He paused for a long moment, as if pondering something, and then sent, _You don't suppose there's any chance that the Earl of Danoc's man might have accidentally ingested some mortweed, do you?_

She suppressed her shock. _I can't imagine how; it's a rather distinctive looking plant, and not easy to mistake for a salad green or a cooking herb. Still...I suppose it wouldn't be impossible..._ Helena glanced across the seated scholars towards the Duke of Corwyn. _Which of the Earl's knights did His Grace say that Danoc was making inquiries about?_

Duncan briefly searched his memory. _I don't think he ever mentioned that; I just remember him sharing the peculiarities of the case. Let me ask._ He glanced toward his cousin. A moment later, his gaze returned to her face. He looked oddly pale.

 _It was Eddington. Sir Gilrae of Eddington._

Helena felt the blood drain from her face. _Sir Gilrae... wasn't that Lady Ædwige's late husband?_

Duncan gave a barely perceptible nod. _Yes, I believe so._

The elusive memory returned with full force, leaving Helena feeling slightly faint. _Jesú, Duncan, I think I know how Sir Gilrae might have gotten mortweed in his system, though I hope I'm wrong. If I'm not, then I may have supplied Ædwige—or at least_ someone _in the Eddington household—with the murder weapon!_


	26. Part II--Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

 _St. Hilary's Basilica—Abbot's Tower  
October 31, 1136—late night_

Duncan stared sightlessly up at his bed's canopy in the darkness, his mind elsewhere. He closed his eyes, focusing his concentration on the object of his thoughts and sending out a tentative probe with his mind. _Are you still awake, heart?_

 _Yes, unfortunately,_ came Helena's prompt answer, her silent voice in his mind sounding not at all sleepy. _I can't get my mind off what His Grace told us earlier this evening, or what Magister Janos said about the effects of mortweed._

 _Me either._ Duncan shifted slightly, getting into a more comfortable position more conducive to relaxing even more deeply into trance state, though careful to retain enough alertness not to simply slip off into sleep. Not that _that_ was very likely at the moment, with all the ugly possibilities that were currently crowding through his mind as he thought back on the day's revelations. He directed his thoughts back towards Helena again. _What did you mean earlier this evening when you mentioned supplying Eddington's killer with the murder weapon?_

A flood of memories flitted into his mind—Helena's remembrances of the February day when they'd gone into the City together to shop for Sophie's birthday present. Although, as she now reminded him, that was not all they'd shopped for together. There had been a letter from Ædwige, hadn't there, asking if someone at the Schola could pick up some items at the apothecary shop for her? He'd all but forgotten about that; it had seemed such an ordinary request at the time. What had it been that Ædwige had asked for in her letter? Helena's memory provided him with the image of two bottles—a heart cordial of some sort for Sir Gilrae's chronic condition, and a black vial of rat poison.

 _Not just any rat poison, cariad,_ Helena confirmed. _Mortweed._

Duncan pondered the implications in the darkness of his room. _But Eddington didn't actually die until August, did he?_

 _I believe we received the letter from Ædwige about it in August, yes. It was just before my trip home to Llannedd; I do remember that much._

 _Hm._ He wasn't sure what to make of that. If Ædwige had requested the poison with the intent of murdering her husband, she had certainly taken her time in getting around to doing so. On the other hand, what if she'd actually needed it to rid her manor of vermin, but afterward the thought had occurred to her that the same poison could be used to rid herself of an unwanted and ailing husband as well? Or perhaps one of the household servants might have come up with the notion instead? Just because Ædwige had ordered the mortweed didn't necessarily mean she'd been the one to use it on Sir Gilrae, if in fact it had been used on him at all.

He shared his musings with Helena in a quick burst of thought, sensing her careful consideration of his progression of thought and her own concurrence with it. He wished he were having this discussion with her face-to-face—trying to maintain this level of mental sharing with her at this distance with all these disturbing thoughts swirling through his mind as well was a little taxing, even though there was only a floor between their chambers. Perhaps if this were morning, after he'd had a sound sleep and renewed his energies... But it was not, and he wished that for once he could forget about social conventions and proprieties just enough to walk down the flight of steps separating them at the moment and invite Helena to follow him somewhere more private. Somewhere where he could simply hold her as he longed to and share this unexpected and unlooked-for burden with her.

He allowed himself to indulge in a brief, carefully shielded fancy of lying there with his beloved in his arms, cuddling up to her warmth. The momentary daydream ended abruptly as he felt an odd sensation, somewhat akin to a mild psychic jolt followed by a gentle drift downward, flow through him. He sensed Helena's unspoken questions turning into mild alarm through the link he still maintained with her, and he kept enough focus on that link to send her a brief surge of reassurance before turning his main focus deeper within, trying to assess what was happening.

 _Duncan!_ Helena's mind-voice sounded like a startled squeal. _What are you doing?_

It took him a moment to answer her, so intent was he on trying to figure out what was causing this strange new sensation. The downward drift had stopped, leaving him feeling like he was lying suspended, somehow floating just above something soft and cushioned. He sensed a curious warmth beside him now, and something else brushed past him that felt... furry? Yes, that had to be Liath, entering his curtained bed while he was in trance to curl up beside his feet. Only that wasn't her preferred spot. He waited for her to settle into her customary spot by his side, but she didn't...

No, this was no time to ponder the nocturnal preference of felines! Dimly, he realized Helena was waiting for an answer. _Just a moment, heart. I seem to have stumbled upon some... unusual type of trance state, I think._

A faint glow permeated his closed eyelids, and he heard Helena's mental voice again, this time sounding somehow equally shocked, exasperated, and somewhat amused, not to mention unusually clear. _It's a bit more than that, I'd say; you seem to have completely left your body! And it's a good thing too; even just finding your... your disembodied spirit here might raise a few questions about us in Tessa's mind, don't you think?_

Duncan's eyes shot open to discover Helena's familiar features just a few inches from his own, her eyes grown rather wide as she stared at him in the subdued handfire she'd just generated. _Jesú, how are you doing this?_ she asked him.

 _I…don't exactly know,_ he replied, equally startled. _I was just imagining..._ No, he realized, an honest answer to that might not be the most circumspect thing to tell her just at this moment, under the circumstances. _You're right, I'd better... go back and figure out how to reverse this._ How, though, when he wasn't certain how he'd managed it in the first place?

Helena's gaze moved past him, continuing upward. He followed it to see a faint shimmering cord leading upwards, through the wooden canopy of her enclosed bed and presumably continuing on past the ceiling above them into his own chamber. He closed his eyes again, willing himself to follow that silvery cord back to its origin, and found himself just as suddenly back within his own body again.

#

Helena doused her handfire and lay back on her pillow, her heart beating wildly. Jesú, that had been unexpected, not to mention startling for poor Fritha! She suppressed a laugh as she remembered how her poor kitten had shot past her to leap between the curtains closing off the entrance to her bed and disappear into the bedchamber beyond. It was a good thing she'd been wearing a night-rail and that Tessa was a sound sleeper. And also that she'd been wide awake and already linked mind to mind with Duncan when it had happened. That thought sobered her slightly. Had she suddenly sensed the presence of a man in bed beside her while she was asleep, she probably would have had a far different reaction. A brief flash of memory of one of Gaspard's nocturnal visits to her bed during her hellish marriage to his brother flitted briefly into her mind before she sternly banished it to the double-shielded portion of her mind where she normally kept it safely tucked away from her consciousness.

She waited a little longer for her sense of calm to return before casting her senses into the bedchamber above hers. _Are you all right, cariad?_

 _Yes, just a bit... stunned. What_ was _that, do you know?_

 _I'm not sure. I think I read something recently that hinted at the possibility of that sort of thing happening_ _—_ _it might have been in one of those texts that Preceptor Azim lent us—but I don't recall if the text gave it a name._ She felt a little lingering awkwardness after Duncan's unexpected visit. _Do you recall what you were focusing on when it happened?_

A short silence. _I was wishing we were having our conversation face to face._

Their conversation? Oh yes, about the mortweed and their newly kindled suspicions about Sir Gilrae's death! She'd almost forgotten, and felt vaguely guilty for having nearly done so. But this new discovery... _And that triggered something? Surely there had to be a bit more to what you did than that!_

Another silence, and then a sense of…mild embarrassment? _I... was picturing myself holding you, and then... something happened. I felt myself drifting, and when I opened my eyes, you were there, and my chamber wasn't. Only... everything around me looked a bit... ghostly, for lack of a better word. Even you._ He shared the memory with her from his perspective.

 _You looked the same way to me. I could see you, but I could see through you as well. And I could sense your presence beside me—that's why I created the handfire, because suddenly I felt you there—but I think that impression was more psychic than tactile. I couldn't feel you in quite the same way I would be able to if you'd actually been next to me._ She chuckled softly. _Wanting a bit of a cwtch, were you, love? I can certainly relate to that, although showing up in my chamber wasn't the best of ideas. The last thing we need is to scare the daylight out of poor Tessa, making her think she's seeing ghostly apparitions on All Hallows Eve, of all nights!_

 _Therese thinking I'm a visiting ghost would be the least of my worries, I suspect,_ Duncan countered. _And I had no idea I'd end up there at all. I'm still not entirely sure how I managed it, though I certainly intend to look into that, once time permits. Right now, though, I'm a bit more concerned about the Eddington matter. Maybe I should have a visit with the Earl of Danoc myself before he leaves Rhemuth again. It could be, given this new information, that the coroner for Danoc might want to call for a closer look at the body and an inquest._

 _Yes, I agree; you should bring it to his attention as soon as possible._ Helena added a teasing note to her mental voice as she added, _And when you do, don't forget to bring your body with you!_

#

 _Saint Camber's Schola  
November 1, 1136-late morning_

 _Heart, are you done with your class yet?_

Helena paused briefly in her demonstration of how to attune an object to a particular psychic signature. _Not just yet. I should be done in another quarter of an hour, though. Why?_

 _I need you in my study as soon as you can get free. Tess also. If I'm not back yet when you arrive, just have a seat. Everard has instructions on who is to be allowed in._

Helena's mind whirled with questions. She picked the most urgent. _Back from where, cariad?_

 _Coroth._ A brief mental sensation, almost like a psychic caress of reassurance, and he was gone from her mind. She could no longer sense his presence nearby. Helena wasn't sure that his attempt at reassurance had really helped. What in the world was going on?

#

 _St. Hilary's Basilica-bishop's study  
November 1, 1136-noonday_

Brother Everard was keeping a discreet watch at one end of the short corridor leading to Duncan's study when Helena arrived. He matched his steps with hers, ushering her to the closed door.

"What's happening?" Helena whispered.

"I don't really know, Sister Helena," he replied. "All I can tell you is that one of the students requested a meeting with the Rector earlier this morning, and once she left, he told me he was off to fetch Duke Alaric in Coroth, and not to let anyone else in except for you and Sister Therese, and that if Magister Janos were to show up, he's to be let in as well."

"He asked me to bring Tessa, but I couldn't find her."

"She's already here," Everard assured her, opening the study door. To Helena's amazement, once she stepped through the doorway, he closed the door behind her rather than leaving it at least partially open as he customarily did when the bishop was meeting with women. She was still pondering this with a slight frown when she spotted her roommate. Sister Therese turned towards her, a brilliant smile lighting up her face.

"Oh, you Deryni have such marvelous gifts! He spoke in my _mind!_ "

It took a moment for Helena to shift from one trail of thought to this new one. "Bishop Duncan did, you mean?"

The nun's eyes glowed with childlike delight. "Yes! He said 'Sister Therese, I have need of you; can you get free for a short while?'" She gave a sheepish laugh. "At first I thought it was God talking, and I nearly passed out in a dead faint, but then it occurred to me to wonder why God sounded so much like the Bishop, and I realized what a ninny I was being."

Helena burst out laughing, her initial trepidation over Duncan's summons broken for the moment. "Well, he's definitely not God, though at least he works for Him!" she joked. "Did you tell him about your confusion?"

"There wasn't much time. As soon as I arrived, he excused himself to go fetch His Grace before disappearing through yon... magical closet..." Therese told her, waving a hand airily in the general direction of Duncan's Transfer Portal. Helena stifled a grin. "But I did mention I'd thought God was speaking to me for a moment. He laughed." The merriment left Sister Therese's features. "I'm glad to have lightened the moment, but from the look on his face when I arrived, he appeared to be quite worried about something. I didn't need Deryni powers to tell me that much." She turned a quizzical look towards Helena. "Why did he summon us here, I wonder?"

"I have no idea, but I'm sure we'll both find out presently." As Helena spoke the words, a flicker of motion caught her eye, and she turned to see Duncan emerging from the niche that concealed the study's Portal. He spared the two women a fleeting smile.

"I'm glad you were both able to make it. Alaric should be with us shortly; he's gone on ahead to Beldour to see if he can bring back Magister Janos." As he spoke, he fished a set of ward cubes out of a pouch, beginning to set them up in the familiar configuration for a Ward Major. Even Sister Therese seemed to recognize the import of that, and she shot Helena a concerned look before asking, "Are we in some sort of danger, Father?"

Duncan finished priming the ward cubes, waiting for the joined cubes to form four silvery oblongs before looking up to answer. "Probably not—actually, I doubt it—but I want to be absolutely certain nothing leaks out from this meeting." He began to move each set of joined ward cubes to the outer corners of the room, enclosing them all within its shielding effects as he did so. "I'll explain in a moment."

A muffled oath sounded from the Transfer Portal niche, and the study's occupants turned to see Alaric draw back a hand quickly, passing the fingertips of his other hand over the back of it lightly before shooting his cousin a gray-eyed glare. Crowded in beside him, the Torenthi Healer gave them a wry grin. Duncan, looking at first startled then amused, drew a doorway arch in the air with the edge of his hand to allow the two latecomers in. "Sorry," he told them. "I wasn't expecting you to come from that direction." He raised an eyebrow meaningfully at Alaric.

"My apologies," the Torenthi magister explained. "I suggested to His Grace that our arrival would be more timely if we came here directly. I am aware of His Majesty of Gwynedd's security concerns, and have given my parole not to attempt to learn this Portal's signature."

"And I figured that bringing Janos directly here would prevent anyone else from spotting him here in Rhemuth today, which might raise unwanted speculation since this isn't one of his scheduled class nights," Alaric added. "Under the circumstances, I think the King will understand, but if not, I'll take full responsibility."

Duncan closed the doorway in the ward circle once more before taking a seat. "All right." He glanced at Helena. "I've already shared with Alaric the realizations we both had last night after Master Janos's class, but I haven't had time to share them with Sister Therese yet. Alaric, did you have a chance to catch Janos up on the story yet?"

"The gist of it, yes," Alaric told him.

 _What exactly did you tell His Grace?_ Helena Mind-Spoke to Duncan, suppressing an urge to blush.

A glint of hidden humor brightened his expression for a moment as he assured her, _Nothing about my accidental 'visit' to your bed, I assure you! Just our suspicions about Sir Gilrae's death._ Aloud, he added, "Tess, I've asked you to join us today because of your experience as an infirmarian. Would you mind if Helena briefly shares with you mind-to-mind what she and I discussed yesterday evening after class? That would be much faster than me telling the story to everyone all over again."

Sister Therese looked puzzled. "I don't mind at all, Father. But..." She turned to Helena with an inquiring look. "We went straight back to our chamber after class last night. How...?"

Helena sternly suppressed the urge to blush. "Mind-Speech, Tessa."

"Oh." Her roommate pondered that for a brief moment, then broke out in a delighted smile. "And now you want to talk in _my_ mind too?"

Helena bit her lip, struggling not to laugh. "Yes, if I may."

"And will there be pictures in my mind as well?" The nun's visage lit with eagerness.

Alaric Morgan slid a glance towards his cousin, who was fighting his own amusement.

"Well... I... Not really," Helena murmured, shooting her roommate a fondly exasperated look as she took the other woman's hand. "Not about _this,_ at any rate, but if you're just dying to Mind-See something, I suppose I could satisfy your curiosity. _Later._ " She sent Sister Therese a quick flurry of condensed thoughts containing the highlights of the suspicions about Sir Gilrae's death and Ædwige's possible involvement in it that she and Duncan had shared the night before.

"Oh! Oh, my..." Sister Therese stared at her wide-eyed once Helena was done. "Surely not! You don't really think sweet little Ædwige would have actually poisoned him, do you? At least not deliberately?" She turned a distressed look of appeal towards Duncan, who shrugged.

"To be honest, Tess, it's hard to know what to think. It's possible she's completely innocent—it's even possible that we're totally mistaken in our suspicions and that Sir Gilrae's remarkable state of preservation is due to other causes entirely. Though as for your assessment of her as 'sweet little Ædwige,' I think Princess Rothana might beg to differ. Apparently the lass can be a bit...wearing to live with at times." Duncan gave the infirmarian a wry smile.

"Yes, I've noticed that as well," Helena affirmed. "She _can_ be a delightful young lady when she chooses to be, but this summer when Cass and I visited her on the way back to Llannedd, and also on our return trip when we brought Ædwige back to the Schola, I began to understand why she rubbed some of the other girls the wrong way. Ædwige, I mean. Though that's hardly relevant in any case; after all, even if she _is_ a bit... cosseted and high-strung, that doesn't necessarily make her a murderess."

"Ædwige's guilt or innocence is not really something that any of us has sufficient grounds to hazard a guess on at this point," Duncan told them. "We still have far too much speculation and too few proven answers to determine the truth of the matter. But the reason I've asked you here today is that we've been presented with an unexpected opportunity to perhaps discover more of those answers." He tightened his lips, looking unhappy about what he was about to say, though he reluctantly shared it anyway. "Helena, Ædwige sought me out this morning to ask permission to return to Eddington Manor for a brief visit to attend her mother-in-law's funeral. She's asked for leave to bring you along as her chaperone."

"Me?" Helena looked startled, then as the implications began to dawn on her, quietly resolved. "Yes, I see. So, you want me to try to find some way to either confirm what we suspect, or to clear her of suspicion entirely, depending on what I can discover?"

Duncan frowned slightly, remaining silent a few moments too long as if still thinking the matter over and not much liking the conclusions he was reaching. Alaric met Helena's gaze. "Actually, I think what Duncan _wants_ is to keep you out of the matter entirely. Such a task does have the potential to become dangerous, if indeed Sir Gilrae was murdered, and if the murderer—whether that's Lady Ædwige or some other member of her household—should come to suspect what you've actually been sent there to do. However, under the circumstances, you're really the only person he could logically send." He glanced at their Torenthi visitor. "Master Janos has the medicinal expertise that would be ideal to the task, but of course there's no way we could send him to Eddington Manor. Sister Therese would also be well suited, being both trained in the healing arts and a female religious, so perfectly suitable as a chaperone, but Lady Ædwige hasn't asked for her company, she's asked for yours. And in addition to that, you've already visited Eddington Manor once before. You know the grounds better than any of us would. Not to mention that you have other gifts that might make you more likely to discover lingering traces of such an act that none of us would be as likely to pick up on, even if we could figure out some pretext to go to Eddington Manor."

Helena nodded slowly. "Psychic traces, you mean? Resonances from the murder?" She considered the notion carefully. "I suppose it's possible. Granted, I didn't pick up on anything untoward before, but then again, I had no reason to look for anything unusual. And my shields were probably quite rigid; Cass and Ædwige have never gotten on well even at the best of times, and I'm sure I'd have kept firmly shielded to block myself from their negative emotions." She grimaced. "So, I'm going to be going into a potentially dangerous situation, but I need to be able to lower my psychic defenses enough to detect when, where and how foul play might have occurred? That's... lovely."

"You don't have to go," Duncan said, half hoping she wouldn't. "Alaric and I still intend to go to the Earl of Danoc to bring up the idea of mortweed being one possible cause of Sir Gilrae's unnatural preservation, regardless of whether or not you end up managing to turn up anything that sheds light on how he would have gotten it in his system. That information in itself might be enough to get his coroner to consider looking into the matter again, even without bringing him reason to suspect any particular agent or means by which Sir Gilrae might have managed to obtain it."

Helena shook her head. "No. We need to know more, and His Grace is right, I'm the logical person to send." She took a deep breath. "But there's only one problem. I'm really not sure what to look for, not to mention where to start looking."

Duncan gave her a resigned smile. "I know. And this is where Janos's and Tess's experience needs to come in." He glanced at the Healer and the Infirmarian. "I need for you two to share with Sister Helena everything you can think of about the effects of mortweed on a human body, living or dead, how the substance can be identified, _anything_ that you can call to mind that might be useful for her to know."

#

 _St. Hilary's Basilica—Abbot's Tower  
November 1, 1136—mid-afternoon_

Sister Therese opened the bedchamber door to find Princess Rothana standing on the staircase landing, her arms laden with fabric. "Is Sister Helena in?"

"Yes; come in," Therese said, stepping back from the doorway to let the princess enter. Behind her, Helena looked up from the small travel chest she was packing to smile in greeting.

Rothana smiled back, handing her the folded garments she held. "I didn't know if you had anything in your wardrobe suitable for mourning clothes, and you've hardly had any time to make ready for this trip, so I took the liberty of collecting a few gowns that might be appropriate for a funeral. Though if none of them fit you properly, I suppose no one could really fault you for showing up in your gray Camberian robes. They're close enough to being religious habit, after all, that I doubt anyone would think twice about it. I just thought you might want to show up in something a little bit less 'everyday.'"

Helena straightened from her task to examine the gowns Rothana offered her. "That was thoughtful of you," she murmured as she unfolded the first one in the small stack. "Oh, this is pretty! Very simple, but the fabric is lovely." She held the black silk against her to gauge its length. "It shouldn't require re-hemming, though the cut might be just a little snug."

"If you'd like to try it on, we can see if it would need to be altered," Sister Therese offered. "I'm nearly as deft with pushing a needle through fabric as I am with pushing it through skin and tissue."

Rothana chuckled, wrinkling her nose slightly. "Now _there's_ an image I didn't need, Tessa." She headed towards the door. "I need to go back down and help Lady Ædwige sort through what she needs to bring with her—or more accurately, what she _doesn't_ need to bring. You'd think she was preparing for a month long trip, not just a few days. Fifteen veils... I don't know if I ever even owned that many at one time, even when I still lived at my father's Court! Tell me _you're_ not packing fifteen veils, Helena."

Helena smiled. "You see the size of my travel chest; if I packed that many veils, that's _all_ I'd be wearing, and I doubt anyone would consider _that_ to be suitable funerary garb!"

"No, you'd definitely need to wear something besides a veil. Perhaps you'd have just enough room left to pack a few fig leaves? That was sufficient for Adam and Eve, I'm told," Sister Therese suggested with an impish gleam in her eyes. Rothana took in Helena's dumbfounded expression and gave an un-princesslike whoop of laughter.

"On that note, I am definitely leaving," Rothana said once she could speak again. "Try on the gowns, Helena; I do _not_ want to see what Tessa might come up with given a needle and thread and a handful of fig leaves!"

She left. Helena shed her gray woolen Servant of Saint Camber gown to try on the three garments Rothana had brought up for her. The first gown was, as she'd guessed, just a trifle too snug, and the second hung too loosely on her frame to be wearable without some significant alterations, but the third fit almost perfectly, needing only for the hem to be let down slightly. Helena pulled her long cascade of hair over one shoulder, allowing Sister Therese better access to her back so she could lace up the garment fully, making sure the skirts were hanging properly before making the necessary adjustments, admonishing Helena to stand up straight and hold as still as possible until she was done with refolding and basting. As the nun drew near to the end of her task, she glanced up at her roommate admiringly.

"This black damask is so lovely, and your hair shines just like a bright jewel against it. It's a pity you'll need to tuck it back up under a veil to go out in public. Perhaps you can wear it braided beneath silk veiling?"

Helena laughed. "Tessa, I'm dressing for a funeral, not a Court revel! I hardly think Ædwige's family will even notice how I'm wearing my hair, so long as I'm dressed with the proper decorum."

Sister Therese had just finished putting the last stitches into a temporary hem that would serve until Helena had time to finish properly hemming the gown when another knock sounded on the door. Helena went to answer it as Sister Theresa stood to put up her sewing supplies, opening the door half expecting to find Princess Rothana on the other side, coming back to see which of the gowns Helena wished to keep. Instead Ranulf de Varnay, Magistra Sophie's young nephew and one of the beginner-level scholars, gazed back up at her. "Magistra Helena, the Rector sent me to see if you could meet him in his study for a few minutes. He says it won't take long." His task accomplished, the boy beamed up at her. "You have pretty hair, Magistra."

Helena's hand flew up to her head as she remembered her lack of veil and wimple. "Thank you, Ran," she murmured absently. "Tell Father I shall be down presently." Turning away slightly to face her roommate, she added, "Therese, have you seen my veil bands?"

The boy gave a polite bow as his father had taught him and, considering himself dismissed to bring the Rector his return message, scampered back down the stairs. Helena closed the door again, looking puzzled as Therese handed her a different piece of headgear from what she was expecting.

"I found your veil and one of the bands, but the one we've stuck your veil pins in is missing. I suspect Fritha has squirreled it away again." Therese turned to check under a nearby bench. "Fritha, you naughty kitty, where are you?"

Helena turned the small cap over in her hands. "This is my night coif, Tessa."

"Oh, there you are!" Therese dropped to the floor, attempting to coax the kitten and her prize out from the low opening beneath Helena's boxbed. Over her shoulder, she tossed back, "It's a perfectly nice coif, and the embroidery on it even matches your gown. If you don't tell the bishop you use it to keep your head warm at night, he'll never know, now will he?" Turning back to the kitten, she added, "Come on out now, there's a nice puss! Pins will hurt you if you swallow them, you know." She twitched the other veil band at the low opening temptingly, offering it up as bait. A gray paw reached out to swipe at it but missed. Therese glanced back at Helena again. "Go on, then! Mustn't keep Father waiting. He's got a meeting with the King tonight, hasn't he, so I don't imagine he's got much time to spare." The nun stretched one arm underneath the bed frame, trying in vain to reach the recalcitrant feline crouched beyond her reach.

There seemed little choice, so Helena hastily donned the embroidered cap, tying the laces at the nape of her neck, underneath her hair rather than under her chin, in an attempt to secure her wayward curls in some semblance of order as she hurried down the staircase. Even so, she felt more like an errant schoolgirl than a proper magistra as she exited Abbot's Tower and crossed the courtyard to enter the Basilica.

#

The Bishop looked up as Helena entered the room. His mouth opened to greet her but no sound came out for a long moment as his startled gaze took in the sight of her in her uncustomary finery. She paused just inside the doorway, looking self-conscious.

"Jesú!" he finally managed. "You look... quite lovely!" He took a deep breath, attempting to gather his wits, hoping he didn't look as disconcerted as he felt.

Helena gave a stifled laugh. "Thank you... I think. _Must_ you sound so astonished? Tell me you didn't call me down here just to tell me that!"

"I... No. No, I didn't," he affirmed. "It's just... I wasn't expecting to see you looking so... so festive."

Her amusement grew. " _Festive?_ That's hardly the look I was going for!" She glanced down at herself, her expression uncertain. "I was planning on wearing this to the funeral. Do you think it's too much? The fabric's quite fine, but it's black, so I figured it would be appropriate..."

"No! I mean, yes, it's... it's nice. Not too much at all." Jesú, here he was babbling on like some lovesick schoolboy! "It's quite suitable." He stared in fascination at the cascade of curls emerging from beneath the lower edge of her coif. Something about the unusual headgear looked oddly familiar. "Is that your night-cap? It's pretty, but tell me you're not going to wear _that_ to the funeral, at least!"

Her cheeks turned pink. "Duncan, are we just going to talk about fashion and fripperies, or did you have some other reason to summon me down here?" she asked, sounding a trifle flustered.

He laughed, his composure finally restored. "I'm sorry. It's just that you _do_ look rather distracting at the moment." He offered her a seat, studying her a long moment before adding, "Alaric was right. I _don't_ want you to go to Eddington Manor tomorrow, but I can't see any other way around it. "

Her expression softened. "Are you worried for my safety _?_ Don't be. I'm sure I'll be just fine. After all, Ædwige doesn't even know that we suspect anything, does she? As far as she's concerned, I'm only traveling with her exactly for the purpose that she's requested."

Duncan cast his senses beyond his study's walls and far enough down the corridor outside the open door to ensure that no one, including the trusty and ever-vigilant Brother Everard, was within earshot before answering her. "I know she's unaware that we suspect anything for now. But that might change later, once you're at Eddington Manor. And if it does, I'm concerned because I'd have no way of knowing if you're in need of assistance. Even assuming you could get some message through to me, whether psychic or physical, it would take time for anyone to actually get to you."

"I'll be very careful," Helena assured him. "And remember, Ædwige's manor isn't all _that_ far away from Rhemuth."

"It's a day and a half from here under normal travel conditions!" he protested, "and even if I stop at way-stations and risk killing several fresh horses in succession to get there faster, I don't see myself shaving more than a few hours off that time. But even if I could, there's the very real possibility you wouldn't be able to get a call for help out to me at all, from that distance. At least not without some more tangible link to connect us than we've got now." He gave her a questioning look. "That is... if you'd be willing...?"

"Yes." There was no hesitation in her voice, though a faint smile lurked at the corners of her lips. "Especially if that will ease your mind and stop you from being such an alarmist!" She lowered her voice slightly. " _Cariad_ , please don't worry so. I promise to be quite cautious. After all, I don't want Ædwige to suspect what I'm up to either, and not because I'm worried she might harm me. I suppose that _is_ a possibility, and I'll be on my guard just in case, but to be honest, I'm more concerned about the mortification I'd feel if she were to catch me poking about her manor looking for evidence that might not even exist, _especially_ if I were to discover we're all just making a mountain out of a molehill."

"Well, humor me at least," Duncan said, reaching into the neck of his cassock and fishing out a chain. Removing it from around his neck, he placed chain and medallion in Helena's hand. "Wear this. It's been attuned to me for years, so it should serve well as a focus to strengthen our link, should you need to try to contact me."

She stared down at the Saint Camber medallion she held, looking briefly puzzled, then oddly... disappointed? As she put the chain around her neck and tucked the medallion safely inside her bodice, Duncan wondered what she had been expecting, and then realization dawned and he felt a bit foolish.

"We... _could_ establish a deeper link between ourselves as well, if you'd like." He smiled, his voice gently teasing. "After all, I'd hardly be a gentleman if I didn't offer, now that I've seen you in your nightwear..." He glanced up at her coif with a grin.

She turned scarlet, her jaw dropping in scandalized amusement as she turned her head swiftly towards the half-open doorway. "Duncan!" she exclaimed, her whisper barely audible.

He chuckled. "There's no one close enough to hear," his voice equally low. " _I've_ been keeping my senses attuned to what's happening in the area around us, even if you haven't." He reached for her hand, cradling it gently between his own. "And a deeper level of rapport between us would help me establish communication with you more quickly and easily as well, if I need reassurance that you're not in any danger. Knowing I can do that would alleviate a great deal of my worry for you, especially if it should turn out that I can still sense you on some level—however faintly—even when we're miles apart. _Are_ you willing, my heart?"

She smiled, tears gathering in her eyes. "I am."


	27. Part II--Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

 _Eddington Manor  
November 3, 1136_

Helena poured herself a goblet of wine, but she did not drink it. Instead, she extinguished the candles in the room until the only source of light remaining was the flicker of flames on the nearby hearth. She brought the goblet to the middle of the room and sat, her body automatically sinking into a comfortable position suitable for putting herself into a meditative state. Focusing her attention on the goblet's contents, she counted down until she was in a light trance, concentrating her efforts on finding the visage she wished to see in the reflections on the wine's dark surface.

Ædwige's face and form came into focus after just a few moments of scrying. She had not been hard to find, nor was Helena having any trouble casting out with her senses to hear what she was saying now. Ædwige's close proximity had certainly helped; even without using her Deryni powers, Helena could hear the sound of Ædwige's agitated voice through the wall currently separating them, although had she not been using her powers to enhance her natural senses, that voice would have been too muffled for her to make out distinct words.

Helena spared a moment to give thanks to God that her pupil had missed the lessons on anti-scrying measures during her months-long absence from the Schola. At any rate, even if she had managed to learn such measures on her own, it was clear that she was too distracted now to think of putting them into place. And that was hardly surprising, after all; most people didn't put such countermeasures into place unless they had good reason for concern that they might be eavesdropped upon. So far, that thought had not seemed to have crossed the young widow's mind, and Helena was certainly not going to suggest the possibility to her now!

Helena cleared her mind, focusing only on what her pupil was doing and saying.

#

"And what in the world did you have to go and open his coffin for anyhow?" Ædwige exclaimed, throwing up her hands in exasperation as she paced the room in front of her steward, clearly agitated. "He's not been dead long enough for his bones to be moved to an ossuary—he's got to rot for something like one to three years for that, hasn't he? And he's only been dead for three months! What, were you planning on boiling his carcass to get the job done sooner?"

Martin Steward suppressed a wince at this callous comment. Eddington's Lady might have been wed to his late master, but it was clear to him that he'd held no place in her affections, or surely she'd not be speaking of him now as if he were little more than some noisome offal that had yet to be carted off properly by the knacker. "No, my Lady, it was naught like that. You know the Eddington family tomb isn't all that large, and we rarely have need for more than one full-sized coffin above-stairs at a time. With Lady Catherine passing, we'd planned on shifting Sir Gilrae's coffin downstairs to the rear of the crypt, next to the ossuaries of his forefathers. Only..." The man looked abashed. "We managed to drop the coffin as we were setting it in place, and the lid came off."

"The lid came off," the young widow repeated, sounding irate. "Well, it's a good thing for you then that Gilrae's corpse wasn't bloated and stinking, isn't it?! And who is 'we'?"

Martin swallowed hard. "Myself, Bartleby the gardener, Sam Crofter, and Johnny Stabler. They weren't being careless, my Lady; it's just that Johnny's a growing lad, and he managed to trip just as we were starting to set the coffin down—just not used to the size of his own feet yet, Johnny's not—and the box took a slight drop, enough to set the lid ajar. But naught's damaged, My Lady, and we've returned the coffin to how we found it. Except for leaving it in the rear of the crypt, of course." He gave a nervous, deferential bow.

Ædwige stared at him in cold silence for a moment, then shrugged. "Oh well, I suppose what's done is done. So, when is Lady Catherine's funeral to be scheduled?"

"Tomorrow morning, my Lady. We were just waiting for your return to Eddington." Martin paused, as if reluctant to say anything that might stir the hornet's nest further, but continued after a wary silence. "Did your... ah... inspector from the Schola wish to examine Sir Gilrae's body before the funeral or afterwards?"

"The inspec... Oh! Yes. Sister Helena." Ædwige frowned. "I'll bring her by the crypt tomorrow morning, before the funeral, I suppose. Lady Catherine's body is still in the chapel awaiting entombment, is it not?"

"Yes, my lady."

Eddington's young widow nodded in satisfaction. "Definitely _before_ the funeral, then. The crypt smells nasty enough as it is even when it's just filled with musty old bones and damp; adding my newly putrid mother-in-law to it certainly won't improve matters!"

"I'll have Mistress Nell wake both of you ladies at dawn tomorrow, in that case."

Ædwige shook her head. "No need, Martin; I've already given Nell all necessary instructions."

#

Helena puzzled over the steward's question. The inspector from the Schola? Did Ædwige truly mean to have her inspect Sir Gilrae's body for some reason? Granted, that's exactly what she'd come here hoping for a chance to do, but she'd never dreamed gaining access to him would be that easy. And why, if Ædwige had had any part in Sir Gilrae's death in the first place, would she ask a Deryni magistra to inspect his body? Could it be that Ædwige was innocent of what she and Duncan had suspected her of, but that she in turn also suspected something was amiss about her late husband's death, and so she planned to ask her Deryni mentor for her opinion? Possibly, though flattering as the notion was, Helena couldn't quite believe that theory either. Had Ædwige already known about her late husband's body's unusual state of preservation before their arrival earlier today? Now that Helena thought the matter through, she imagined the steward must have sent her some mention of it at the same time he informed her of her mother-in-law's death. Had Ædwige asked for her as a chaperone specifically because she knew her magistra was also a Healer and might know what had caused such a strange phenomenon? But surely if that were her hope, wouldn't she have mentioned something about the matter on the trip to Eddington?

Helena wished Duncan were there. Perhaps Ædwige had mentioned something of the sort to him. The thought of him brought the memory of their last meeting to mind, and she smiled, reaching into her gown for the Saint Camber medallion she wore around her neck. Holding it cupped in her hands as a focus, she concentrated on the bond between them, using it as a guide to send her thoughts his way.

#

 _St. Hilary's Basilica, Abbot's Tower  
November 3, 1136_

Duncan was beginning to drift off to sleep when he felt his beloved's questing probe brush up against his mind. He immediately strengthened the link between them, sending back a greeting of his own. _Good evening, heart._ He smiled to himself in the darkness. _How's your trip so far? I could sense you at the back of my mind all day, at the very edge of my consciousness but still present whenever I stilled my mind long enough to focus on it._

 _I sensed you there as well, cariad,_ Helena replied. _And right glad am I for it; it's been a rather trying day, and I'm exhausted, but feeling your presence in the background has helped. I've not had a moment to rest until just now, but I wanted to wish you a good night at the very least, and I have something to ask as well. When Ædwige asked you for permission to bring me along with her to Eddington, did she say anything to you about needing me to inspect Sir Gilrae's body?_

Duncan was startled. _No, she didn't. Why, has she asked you to?_

 _No. At least not yet. Though she's told her steward that's why she brought me here._ Helena Mind-shared the conversation she had witnessed between Ædwige and Martin Steward through her scrying goblet.

 _That's...very strange. And no, she gave no hint of anything like that to me at all._ Duncan felt a renewed twinge of concern. _Be very careful. And let me know what you discover when you can._

 _I will, but that's not likely to be before tomorrow night at bedtime. Before that, I suppose both of us will be kept too busy to maintain the necessary focus._

Duncan chuckled. _That's quite all right. Having your voice be the last thing I hear before I fall asleep at night is hardly a hardship. Though I suppose I'd better let you get your rest now, and I need to get caught up on my own. I have an early morning tomorrow._ He stifled a yawn. _Oh, that's right, I've not had a chance to tell you! Alaric went to speak to the Earl of Danoc today to tell him our theory about the mortweed, but the Earl's left Court already. With the King's and the Archbishop's leave, I've offered to go to Danoc to apprise him of the details and see if the coroner there might consider looking into the matter again._

 _You?_ He sensed her startlement. _But... can they spare you?_

He grinned. _I'm not quite_ that _indispensable, love. Kelson and Thomas can manage to get along without me here for a few days. It's hardly like they've never had to do so before. Besides, weren't_ you _the one going on about me needing to take the occasional holiday?_

Her amusement flowed through their shared bond. _Duncan McLain, you have a very odd idea of 'holidays'!_ A flood of affection, like a psychic caress. _Safe travels then, cariad._

 _And you stay safe as well. At least_ I'll _be traveling with a hand-picked escort. I wish I'd thought to send one or two of the Rhemuth squires or men-at-arms to Eddington with you rather than just sending you off with Lady Ædwige's retainers._

 _That might have been a bit difficult to explain, mightn't it? How would you have explained that to Ædwige? "I don't trust your men to keep Sister Helena safe"?_ A mental chuckle. _Stop worrying like an old woman; I'll be fine! By the time you reach Danoc, I'll already be on my way back to Rhemuth._

He smiled. _I suppose_ y _ou're right, heart. Sleep well._

 _You too._

The link went quiet, though at the edge of his awareness he could still feel the connection between them, silently comforting. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to drift into slumber. His last conscious thought before falling asleep was that at least in Danoc, he'd be closer to Eddington Manor. Hopefully Helena would have no need for him—with any luck, she might even return to Rhemuth before he did—but if she were to encounter any threat to her safety while in Eddington, he could get to her much sooner. Perhaps he was worrying overmuch about that possibility, but deep down, something in his gut warned him that he couldn't be too cautious. What had prompted that instinct, he didn't know, but years of life experience had taught him that he should do his best to heed it.

#

 _Eddington Manor  
November 4, 1136—morning_

Helena had risen and dressed early, expecting to be summoned by Ædwige to join her in inspecting Sir Gilrae's body shortly before his mother's funeral Mass, but to her surprise, no such summons came. Instead, a tiring maid arrived to tell her that the family and friends gathered for Lady Catherine's funeral were invited to break their night's fast in the Hall downstairs in half an hour's time.

"Is your mistress already in the Hall?" Helena asked, her voice casual.

"No, m'lady," the young maid answered. "Lady Ædwige is still abed, or leastways she still was a few minutes ago when Mistress Nell had me put Boots th' kitten outside ta tend ta his business, if ye mind my meanin'. Mistress Nell says no one is ta disturb th' Lady until 'tis time ta dress f'r th' funeral."

 _Interesting._ "All right. Thank you." Helena washed her face and hands and dried them on the towel the tiring maid offered her, pondering her words as she shrugged into her borrowed mourning gown. The girl laced her into it and departed to assist other guests.

Why had Ædwige led her steward to think that she'd brought someone from the Schola to investigate her husband's death, or at least his unusual state of preservation, if she didn't mean to actually invite Helena to do so? Was the story merely a ruse to throw him off track, and if so, why? Helena didn't like the answers that came to mind when she considered that question. Ædwige was acting like a woman with something to hide, and if she were trying to hide it from her own steward, then this—coupled with the fact that she had purchased a poison earlier in the year which was the most likely explanation Helena could think of for Sir Gilrae's current state—seemed to point strongly towards the young widow's guilt.

#

 _Saint Hilary's Basilica—Rector's study  
November 4, 1136—morning_

"Uncle Duncan?" Briony Morgan stopped in the doorway of the rector's study, staring in surprise at the sight of her cousin the bishop dressed in a black leather jerkin over equally dark tunic and trews rather than his customary cassock. Only the ring on his finger belied his episcopal rank, although the quality and cut of his garments were those befitting a former Duke of the realm. She found the effect a bit startling; she'd known her father's cousin all of her life, but somehow had never thought about him as… well, actually surprisingly handsome, for an older man at least. Was _that_ why some of the older Court ladies kept stealing covert glances at him when he visited the King's Court? The unexpected realization was a trifle disconcerting.

Duncan looked up from the document he was signing, his keen blue eyes lighting up at the sight of her. "Good morning, heart. You just caught me in time; I was about to head over to the stables." He put up pen and ink, setting the document aside for the ink to dry. "Did you need to speak to me about something in particular, or were you just dropping in for a visit?"

She blushed. "Well... I was wondering about something, but I suppose it can wait. Where are you off to? Is there a hunt today?"

He chuckled. "Don't I wish! No, I'm afraid I have some business that's come up in Danoc, so I'm heading down there for a few days." A sudden thought occurred to him, and he frowned at her in consideration. "On second thought, close the door, sweeting. I just realized you might have some information that I need."

Briony looked puzzled, although she quickly complied. "What sort of information?" she asked him once the door was closed.

"I need to know everything you can tell me about Lady Ædwige of Eddington..."

#

 _Eddington Manor  
November 4, 1136—morning_

Ædwige tapped her foot impatiently on the stone floor of the chapel, looking as if she thought the Requiem Mass would never end, but at last it did, and the cross-bearer led the processional forth from the chapel towards the nearby Eddington family burial vault. At the end of the winding path, the small mausoleum stood, doors unlocked and open in anticipation of receiving Lady Catherine's mortal remains. The pallbearers carried the dowager's coffin into the tiny enclosed area, which was only barely spacious enough to contain the clergy and the deceased's relations, although these moved to either side to allow those gathered just outside the entrance to witness the final portion of the ceremonial rites.

Helena watched as the coffin was laid to rest upon a low dais in the center of the small chamber, the pallbearers exiting afterward to allow more room for the priest to finish the funerary service with his final prayers for the dead. It was clear that there was only room for one Eddington family member at a time to lie in this ground-level portion of the family tomb, but as the clergy and family filed back out of the mausoleum after the final prayer, Helena caught a quick glimpse of the doorway which must surely lead downstairs to the crypt containing the remains of Sir Gilrae and his Eddington ancestors. This entryway appeared to be without any built in lock, although as the last of the family emerged from the vault and the doors were closed on Lady Catherine's coffin, the household's steward secured the outer entrance with a thick chain and large padlock.

It was evident that she would be unable to get a closer look at Sir Gilrae's remains under these circumstances. Perhaps later, once the well-wishers had dispersed and the family's focus was elsewhere, Helena might find some pretext for exploring the grounds, though even if she did so, she still had no idea how a visit to the underground crypt might be managed. Perhaps in the dead of night? The magistra suppressed a shudder at the unappealing thought. That might be possible, if it were to become absolutely necessary, but surely there had to be some other way of gathering the information she had come here to find!

#

 _Saint Hilary's Basilica—Rector's study  
November 4, 1136—morning_

Briony stared at her priestly cousin, stunned. "So, you believe that Ædwige did it?" Her mind whirled at the thought, tried to scream denial, but at the same time she realized that the idea wasn't quite so far-fetched as she'd have liked. It was no secret to her that Ædwige had not wanted to marry, nor did she grieve for the husband she'd had only briefly. But was she actually capable of such a heartless act as cold-blooded murder? Briony couldn't bear to think that she was, though sometimes the older girl could be a trifle self-centered. Oh, she was good at doing and saying all the right things to hide it, but sometimes Briony had overheard Ædwige making comments that had made her wince a bit, especially to Cass. She had no idea what the older girl had against Cass Draper; Briony only knew the draper's daughter a little bit, but she seemed like a rather nice sort girl from what Briony could tell.

Then again, she'd once thought Ædwige rather nice too, or at least mostly so. Even now, she still couldn't fathom the other girl doing anything truly _wrong_ , at least nothing as evil as what Uncle Duncan was concerned about now. "But are you sure? Maybe someone else at Eddington wanted Sir Gilrae dead, and now Ædwige is just under suspicion because she never wanted to marry him in the first place. But that doesn't mean _she_ did it!"

Duncan nodded. "I know, poppet. And no, I'm not sure of anything at this point, but there's enough reason to at least suspect that Sir Gilrae's death is no accident that the evidence needs to be brought to the Earl of Danoc's consideration. So that's why I need to know, if there's anything the Lady Ædwige might have said or done that might shed more light on this matter, would you please bring it to my attention? Or if I'm away, let your father know; he's aware of the situation."

"I can't think of anything in particular, but if something comes to mind, I'll let you know," Briony promised.

Duncan picked up the small bundles he'd packed for his trip, giving them a final inspection to ensure they'd fit into his saddlebags. "You said earlier that you were wondering about something?"

Briony had nearly forgotten what she'd come to her cousin's study to ask, but his words brought the memory back to the forefront of her mind again. "Oh, it's nothing! I was just curious..." She shrugged. "I haven't seen Father Nivard around in a couple of weeks. Did he... has he been investigated yet?" She blushed. "It's probably none of my business, and if it's not, just tell me, but I was just wondering how that turned out."

Duncan studied his young cousin for a long moment before answering. "He's been investigated and found innocent of the charges. His answers passed three different Truth-Readers, including one from a Deryni with no prior relationship with him."

Briony paled. "Really? But... _how?!_ I mean..." She thought back to her encounter with the distraught young widow who had confided Father Nivard's despicable actions towards her. But if he'd been questioned about the incident and had passed a Truth-Reading... What exactly had happened between Father Nivard and Ædwige that could have caused the young woman to react the way she had when Briony had run into her that morning? And why, if Father Nivard was innocent, hadn't he been sent back to his regular duties?

"So... where is he now?"

Duncan half-sat on the edge of his desk as he regarded her steadily. At last he decided to entrust her with the truth. "We have reason to believe you were deliberately misled into believing the accusations against him because his accuser hoped to cause trouble for him. Why she felt angry or upset enough with him to do so is still unclear, but during the course of the inquiry, we were able to determine with certainty that her actions had nothing to do with any improper behavior on Father Nivard's part. _He_ has some idea why she might be that upset with him, but unfortunately he's not free to disclose that information. At any rate, since his accuser has tried to malign his character once, there was concern that she might attempt to do so again if he returns too soon, so he's been reassigned for the time being."

"I..." Briony absorbed this new shock. "Are you saying... she used me to try to hurt Father Nivard? And that he was completely innocent?"

Duncan nodded. "I'm afraid so, poppet."

Tears welled in the girl's eyes. "I know it's behavior completely unbecoming a Duke's daughter," she confided, "but would it be all right, just once, if I slap the snot out of her?"

The bishop chuckled. "I'm afraid I can't condone that, sweeting. Besides, if you did so, she might realize her secret has been found out. One of them anyway. And I'm not sure yet if that would be to John's advantage or not. But if you wish to make amends for your part in Father John's current situation, it would really help if you could tell me who made the original accusation against him." He straightened, drawing the girl into a comforting hug.

She sniffled once, blinking back her tears and recovering her composure. "It was Ædwige."

" _Was_ it now?" Yes, now that Duncan weighed this new piece of information in his mind, suddenly the accusation made more sense. Briony also seemed to come to the same conclusion, for she drew back from him after a moment, giving him an earnest look.

"The 'something awful' that Father John wanted her to do that day that she wanted to get him in trouble for... he asked her to turn herself in, didn't he? She confessed to…to killing her husband, or at least to knowing _something_ about it... and he told her she had to tell her liegelord or someone, and she got angry and spiteful. Is that it?"

Duncan gave a neutral shrug. "Sweeting, I really can't say. Not only was I not privy to whatever Father John told Lady Ædwige that day, but if it happened in the context of a Confession, I really ought not even speculate. But that does seem to be at least one possible interpretation, though there could well be some other reason she chose to do what she did." He laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I know you want answers, Briony; we all do. But for now, leave the matter be, and whatever you do, _don't_ ask her directly! If my suspicions are correct, you'd be safest giving her a wide berth if you can, and if you can't, at least say and do nothing that will let her know that anyone suspects anything about her. Can you do that?"

Briony nodded, her face set and determined. "I shall have to, shan't I? Don't worry," she said, her voice slightly bitter. "I won't say or do anything to let on that we aren't still anything except very dear friends." She gave him a grim smile. " _She_ says I'm her very best friend in the whole wide world, but if she could betray my trust as she did about Father Nivard, then I don't think she's very clear on the concept."

#

 _Eddington Manor  
November 4, 1136—afternoon_

Ædwige gave a relieved sigh as the last of her house guests tendered their farewells and left. None had been particular friends of hers—they had mainly been contemporaries of her late mother-in-law or of her late husband—and she was glad to be rid of the necessity of having to make polite courtesies to people she hardly knew and hoped never to see again.

That was, of course, excepting Sister Helena. She turned a weary smile to her chaperone once the final guest had departed. "I have a touch of the headache, I'm afraid. I think I shall go up to my chamber and rest a bit. Would you like to come join me?" Ædwige picked up her kitten, cradling Boots against her cheek to feel him purr. Martin had seemed rather shocked to see her bring him to the funeral Mass—judging by the sour look on his face, perhaps he thought it was inappropriate for her to carry a cat into chapel or to the tomb afterward, but she hardly cared. After all, no one had bothered to ask her how _she_ felt about any of this nuisance, being dragged off from her friends at Schola to attend some dreary old entombment of an old crone she'd hardly known. She deserved some consolation for her troubles, didn't she?

#

Helena's heart leaped at the offer. Here was the perfect opportunity to gain access to Ædwige's private chambers. She had tried, shortly after their arrival at the Eddington the previous day, to open up her psychic senses briefly in hopes of picking up on any lingering resonances she could detect in the manor house, but although she had been bombarded with a great many flashes of various events that had occurred in the more public areas of the home that she'd been allowed into thus far, some more emotionally-charged than others, so far she'd not detected anything that appeared to have a direct bearing on Sir Gilrae and his death. She'd learned that he had spent most of his final months of life within the confines of his private chambers, venturing from those walls only for brief forays to the Hall or the garden, preferring the comfort of his bed over a bench or chair. Even brief walks had grown tiring for him towards the end of his life, although he had rallied enough on a few occasions to venture outside the manor into the village beyond, and earlier on had even managed to regain enough energy for an overnight visit to Concaradine with his young bride. But whether his decline had eventually led him to a natural death or whether he'd been helped on his way to it was something she had not managed to determine as of yet.

But might there be something, some remaining trace of psychic trauma remaining in those private chambers where Sir Gilrae had spent his final days of life, which Helena might be able to detect if only she could gain access to that inner sanctum? She didn't know, but this might well be her only opportunity to find out.

"I think I shall, if I may," Helena answered her hostess. "I'm feeling a little tired myself." The statement was entirely true, if not the actual cause for her desire to follow Ædwige to her private apartment. She _was_ weary; her constant need for vigilance was proving to be physically as well as mentally exhausting. Thank Jesú she and her young student would be returning to Rhemuth soon, but in the meantime, she needed to focus her flagging energies on doing what she could towards discovering what she'd come here to find.

#

Ædwige stripped off her dark veil and wimple, tossing both to one side as she rubbed at her aching brow. Boots, allowed free rein in his mistress's bedchamber, scampered after both, batting at the folds of fabric dangling over table's edge.

"I could ease your headache, if you'd like," Sister Helena said as she, too, made herself more comfortable in the privacy of the chamber. "Or would you prefer for me to call one of your chambermaids to fetch you some feverfew, or perhaps a lemon balm and lavender tisane?"

The young widow waved her hand towards a small cabinet. "Oh, no need, I've got a tincture of the sort made up already. If you could just fetch me the violet bottle, please, that should help." She frowned slightly. "At least I think it still ought to be good. I made it fairly late in the summer, around August I think. Or was it the end of July?"

Helena opened the bottle, immediately spotting a small violet glass bottle in the shallow rack within. She started to reach for it, when her attention was caught by another bottle in the small collection contained in the cabinet. "Which bottle did you say, Ædwige?" Helena asked, stalling for time as she cautiously relaxed her shields just a small bit and allowed a fingertip to brush against the familiar-looking vial.

"Violet. Like lavender," Ædwige repeated. Helena barely heard the words as she stood rooted in place for a moment, absorbing the sudden influx of resonances emanating from the green bottle she'd just touched. She unfroze, reaching a tentative hand towards the small violet bottle. To her relief, this contact felt benign. She withdrew the vial, leaving the cabinet doors slightly ajar as she returned to Ædwige's bedside with the headache remedy, uncorking it as she crossed the narrow space between them and taking a cautious sniff of its contents. "Ah, I recognize this; lavender, lemon balm, and skullcap, isn't it? And you say you macerated it just this summer? Yes, it should still be good, and Sister Therese will be quite pleased to know you've learned your lessons on simples so thoroughly." The magistra smiled as she handed her pupil the headache medicine, her shields firmly in place once more. "Why don't you lie back and have a rest? I'll fetch a spoon for you to measure your dose in, if you'll tell me where to find one."

#

The tincture was swift to do its work, the herbal ingredients quickly beginning to alleviate the young woman's discomfort while also lulling her into drowsiness. Helena offered to use a sleep spell to help Ædwige fall into slumber, but even though the offer was refused, such efforts turned out to be unnecessary as Ædwige drifted off to sleep mere minutes later. Helena waited another couple of minutes before rising quietly, using her powers on her unguarded companion to ensure her continued deep sleep before she crossed the chamber to inspect the contents of the cabinet again.

Yes, there it was—the green bottle Helena remembered purchasing from the apothecary shop the previous winter. Of the black bottle Helena had purchased along with it, there was no sign, but then that was hardly a surprise. The black bottle had contained the mortweed poison meant for killing rats, and would hardly be contained in the same cabinet where the lady of the house would store her medicinals, if she had any sense about her, and Ædwige was no dullard. The green bottle, Helena remembered, had originally contained a heart cordial. But did it still?

She picked up the green bottle, closing her eyes and dropping her shields as she did so. Fortunately she had already touched it once, and therefore had some inkling of what to expect, for otherwise she might have had difficulty in suppressing her reactions to the alien memories flooding her mind.

 _Pain. Pressure in the man's chest... oh, where was that damned cordial? Yes, there it was, that welcome relief to be found in the green glass bottle, the color of life. Life he knew he had very little of, yet hopefully enough life yet to sire an heir. An heir for Eddington at last. Not that his brother was lacking in any way as an heir, but Robert had sired only daughters, and he'd always longed for an heir from his own loins at any rate. Selfish of him, perhaps, but what other legacy could he leave in this life for others to remember that he'd once existed? Moira had tried, bless her, but she'd died in her first effort, and Delicia had given him five children, but none had survived to see a fifth birthday and she'd died of the feverflux while bearing yet another. And now there was pretty little Ædwige, a willful little lass to be sure, yet his last hope and comfort in his declining days. Her monthly flow was late—he'd made it his business to keep track of such things—and he hoped she was already bearing the son he longed for. A Deryni son at that. Such a lad could keep Eddington well, would also be an asset to his liegelord and friend the Earl of Danoc in years to come. Or to Aubrey's heir, at any rate, for while Aubrey still enjoyed good health, he was getting no younger either. But a Deryni knight in some future Earl of Danoc's service, or possibly someday even in the King's service, in these changing times when a man with such gifts could be recognized an asset to the Kingdom and rise far in his fortunes—now_ that _would be a legacy a man could die proud of._

 _She brought him the cordial now, carefully measuring out the dosage in the silver spoon she kept on hand for the purpose before handing him the uncorked bottle to hold. He opened his mouth, welcoming the relief sure to come, for his cordial was swift to act. She smiled as she gave it to him, his benevolent angel of mercy. He knew she'd been unhappy, poor tyke, when she was first given to him to wed and bed, but now he fancied that she might at last be warming to him. Certainly her beautiful blue eyes seemed to bear him no anger now as she gave him the comfort of his cordial._

 _He swallowed, frowning slightly as he did so. There was an odd aftertaste to his medication, an unfamiliar bitterness masked at first by the usual strong flavor of the cordial, but detectable after the liquid trickled down his throat and he inhaled again. It was only a slight taint, though. Perhaps the cordial was simply beginning to turn? The bottle was nearly empty now, after all. Yes, that must be why; it was simply old. He ought to have Ædwige order more from Rhemuth before he ran out of his supply completely. It wouldn't do to run out. Nothing else brought him relief as quickly as did this fine cordial._

 _The pain and pressure in his chest began to subside, but even as it did, a new sensation began to spread through him, a curious cold numbness quite unlike anything he'd experienced before. He drew a breath and then another, then found that his ability to draw a third had become paralyzed. He raised uncomprehending eyes to his wife as she gently withdrew the bottle from his slackening hand and recorked it, returning it to its place in the small cabinet at the other end of the chamber. He tried to speak, but could not. After another moment, his staring eyes ceased to see._

 _He felt her return, felt her hand push him back down onto his pillow, although by that time his mind did not fully comprehend that final sensation. And then he felt nothing more._

Helena placed the bottle in its usual place in the cupboard, her hands shaking. Had Ædwige deliberately poisoned her husband, or had he simply had an adverse reaction to his cordial? Or had someone else's hand put mortweed in his cordial, and his wife gave it to him all unknowing? Helena kept her shields lowered a few moments longer, hoping some hint to the answers to these important questions might come to her, but she could detect nothing. She touched the bottle once more, trying to divine what hand had adulterated its contents, if anyone had, but no obliging flash of memory came to her. Was there any way she could bring back a sample of the bottle's contents for Sister Therese or Master Janos to test? She briefly considered concealing the bottle in her pouch and taking it back to Rhemuth with her, but no, Ædwige was likely to notice the familiar bottle's absence the next time she had cause to look in the cabinet. Helena couldn't take that risk. She would have to be content with sharing Sir Gilrae's final memories with Duncan and whomever else he deemed it necessary to inform of what she had learned. Surely that would suffice for a coroner to order a new investigation into his death?

Helena started to close the cabinet again, but no, when Ædwige had fallen asleep, the cabinet had still been open, so if she were to awaken and find it closed, she might wonder why Helena had tampered with it. It would be best just to leave everything as it was when Ædwige had last seen it. She felt a sudden wave of fatigue sweep over her, compounding the tiredness she'd felt earlier. Did she dare return to the safety of her guest chamber to sleep, or should she remain here until her hostess awoke? Yes, Ædwige might wonder why she'd felt the need to leave and sleep elsewhere when she'd been allowed the privilege of joining her in a more comfortably appointed chamber and bed, and Helena didn't wish to do anything that might awaken Ædwige's suspicions. On the other hand, shielded or not, would she be able to sleep on the same bed where Sir Gilrae had met such a death?

Helena chose the window seat instead, leaning her head on a cushion against the wall, half seated and half reclining. It mattered not, in the end, for even in such a position she fell asleep in a matter of minutes.

#

They both woke to the sound of glass shattering on the hard floor. Helena's eyes flew open, and she tried to get her bearings as Ædwige sat up in her bed.

"Boots, no!" the younger woman cried out, leaping from the bed and dashing across the room. Helena sat up straighter, peering from the window embrasure to see what had happened. Several small bottles lay on the table where the medicinal cabinet rested, knocked from their shelves, and two bottles had rolled off the edge of the table, falling to the floor. It was one of these that had shattered, its dark, syrupy contents slowly spreading over the floor.

Ædwige's kitten happily licked at the tasty liquid, to his mistress's horror.

"Oh, Bootsy! Naughty kitty!" The young woman was at the creature's side now, scooping him up from the dark puddle. "That's nasty, Bootsy; here, drink some water to wash it out!" She brought him to her ewer and basin, hastily scooping up a handful of water, trying to coax him into swallowing it. When that failed, she rammed a finger down his throat, but he convulsed once and then lay limp in her hand.

Helena watched, knowing that any number of potions could have that sort of effect on a poor, hapless kitten who chanced to imbibe them. The mixtures and dosages were designed for human use, after all, not for cats. But she cast a quick glance back at the shattered glass littering the floor.

It was green. And when she looked back up at the bottles remaining in and under the open cabinet, the one that had contained Sir Gilrae's heart cordial was nowhere to be found.


	28. Part II--Chapter 19

**Chapter Nineteen**

 _Eddington Manor  
November 4, 1136—late afternoon_

Ædwige sobbed over the body of her dead kitten as Helena rose, blinking the last vestiges of sleep away rapidly as her mind assessed the situation. She walked over to comfort the grieving young woman with a pat on the shoulder, her mind tightly shielded so that nothing of her private thoughts might chance to leak through during the brief contact.

"I'm so sorry, dear. Kitten constitutions are _so_ fragile. I'm sure it all happened so quickly, little Boots didn't suffer. Here, let me call someone in to help clear up the mess."

"No!" Ædwige stayed her with a fierce grip on her arm. "I—I'll do that." The young woman blinked away tears.

"But dear, you might cut yourself on those shards! At least let me call for your chambermaid to bring up some rags and a broom."

"Th-that's all right, I know where Mistress Nell keeps them." Ædwige dashed the back of one hand across her cheeks, wiping away her tears. "If you don't mind, magistra, I'd really just rather be alone right now."

Helena nodded. "Of course." She left the widow's chamber, wishing as she returned to her own guest room that she could have found some way to save a small portion of the cordial before it had spilled all over the chamber floor. The opportunity to have it examined at some later date seemed completely lost now, unless perhaps she could save one of the cleaning rags used to mop up the mess. Might she be able to salvage one, or would it be missed? Helena gave a sigh of frustration as she poured some water into her bedside basin and closed the window shutters. Even though the wooden shutters blocked out most of the outside light, the chamber was not as dark as she might hope, but the conditions would have to suffice; she had to see what Ædwige was up to. Possibly that was nothing more than cleaning glass shards off the floor and mourning for her lost kitten, but Helena needed to know.

The kitten. Might Ædwige be persuaded to bring it back to Rhemuth for burial? Perhaps if a cleaning rag could not be saved, something might be learned from poor Boots's body. Helena shook her head at the thought. How morbid she was turning! She could hardly wait to leave Eddington and get back to the comfort and safety of her own chamber in Rhemuth. Not to mention closer to Duncan...

No, she could spare no thought for him now, although she drew upon the tenuous bond between them for strength before sinking into light trance, focusing all of her attention on the basin before her, scrying for answers.

#

Ædwige carefully chose thick gloves, knowing exactly what was mixed in with the cordial that had spilled onto her floor, then opened a chest containing some of Gilrae's old clothing. She took one of his woolen shirts out, spreading it over the puddle to soak up the poisoned cordial. Hopefully some of the smaller glass splinters would also come up with the damp fabric when she was done, but if not, she needed some safe way to handle the broken glass. It would hardly do for her to slice through the leather covering her hands and risk a cut deep enough for the poison to get into her system that way. No, that was why she couldn't simply have left this task to Mistress Nell or one of the chambermaids, tempting as that was. They'd have handled the glass carefully, but perhaps not carefully enough, and if one of _them_ were to drop dead upon cleaning up the broken bottle, there'd be no way to avoid awkward questions then! It was true that Gilrae's original cordial had been strong enough to sicken anyone who did not suffer from the same heart complaint that he'd had, but even so, it was not so potent as to affect someone immediately in the same way that the mortweed-laced cordial had. If only she'd thought to dilute it first! But if she had, would it have worked?

Her eyes scanned the room, lighting upon the flat-edged fireplace shovel next to the hearth. Yes, that might do! Reaching for the tool, she lifted the sodden fabric gingerly, using the shovel's edge to scrape together the larger pieces of glass into a pile, then awkwardly used the wad of wool to sweep it all into the shovel. Where could she dump it all, though? Her gaze swept the room again, this time landing on her kitten's carrier. Of course. He wouldn't need that anymore, so it could all go inside there for now. Later, of course, she'd have to find some place to get rid of all the incriminating evidence, but for now no one would give a second thought to her departing in the morning with Bootsy's travel chest.

Well, no one except for Magistra Helena, that is. Ædwige suppressed a surge of panic as she used another one of Gilrae's old tunics to wash the stained floor with water from her basin. Helena knew poor Bootsy was dead, so she might wonder why Ædwige would bother with bringing back his case. Unless, of course, dear Boots was still in it? Perhaps she could tell the magistra that she simply couldn't bear to bury Bootsy here at Eddington, and that she wished to bring him back to Rhemuth for burial. After all, it was November, and they'd be back at the Schola too soon for him to start smelling bad yet. At least she was fairly sure he would keep until she could bury him properly somewhere, maybe in the parklands under those pretty trees where she and Sivney had once sported. She pondered the thought, then decided it was the best idea she could come up with for the moment. Searching in Gilrae's clothes chest again, she brought out a pair of soft leather trews and folded them neatly, tossing her rinse rag and finally her gloves into the box on top of the poison-soaked wool and glass beneath, before hiding everything under the folded layers of leather that would conceal all and serve as a final resting place for her dead kitten. She carefully set Boots on top of this pile, closing the lid gently over his limp body.

#

 _Eddington Manor  
November 4, 1136—nearly midnight_

Helena had kept a low profile the rest of the afternoon and evening, joining her hostess and the Eddington household for supper, but otherwise trying to be as unobtrusive a guest as possible. She and Ædwige were scheduled to leave for Rhemuth early the next morning, so after the evening meal Helena bid the small assemblage a good night, saying that she wished to be well rested for their departure the following day.

She had managed, mainly by means of discreet questions and comments to various members of the Eddington staff, to gather a little bit more information about Sir Gilrae in the time between her retreat to her guest chamber earlier that afternoon and Mistress Nell's summons to supper that evening. Helena was unsure how useful any of it might be—for instance, was there any significance in the observation that Sir Gilrae's health had seemed to decline earlier in the year, only to rally briefly before the sudden reversal that had ended with his death? She didn't know, but perhaps Master Janos might. Her role was to simply absorb, spongelike, any information that might possibly be useful and bring it back for others to sift through and assess.

Still, Helena wasn't sure she had quite enough. Oh, she had gossip and rumor and her own psychic impressions, but nothing really in the way of physical proof. What if the coroner for Danoc should require something more tangible before he would consent to reopen the investigation? Would the poison-soaked rags and a dead kitten suffice? And did Ædwige truly mean to bring such incriminating evidence of her deeds back to Rhemuth with her? Helena couldn't figure out why. Surely she'd wish to dispose of anything that could link her to her husband's death sooner, wouldn't she? Or was she afraid to cast off such items here—was that it? The very fact that she had taken the precaution of tossing everything linked to this afternoon's accident into the same cat carrier in which she meant to bring poor Boots back to the Schola seemed to point to her guilt in killing Sir Gilrae. Otherwise, why not allow the chambermaid to clean up the broken glass and spilled potion, and chuck the entire mess into the rubbish pile afterward? No, Ædwige surely meant to dispose of it all somewhere along the way. The question is, where? And could Helena manage to save enough of it to bring as evidence to the coroner instead?

She lay awake, sensing Duncan through the psychic bond between them. For some reason his presence felt a little stronger this night than it had the night before. Oh yes, it would, wouldn't it? He'd told her he'd be heading to the Earl of Danoc's Court, setting forth this morning, so surely he'd be passing fairly close to Eddington along the way. Perhaps their paths might even cross sometime the next morning, although she doubted it. No, she likely wouldn't see him again until his own return to Rhemuth, whenever that might be.

She might not be able to be with him until they were both back at the Schola, but she could share her discoveries of the day with him at least. She closed her eyes, holding his Saint Camber medallion lightly as she concentrated on touching his mind with her own.

#

It took far less time for the two Deryni to exchange what each had learned during the day than it had taken for either to have gained the information in the first place.

 _How long has Ædwige been suspected of trying to damage John's character?_ Helena asked, her mind-voice sounding surprised.

 _She hasn't been,_ Duncan told her, _at least not officially yet. I only began to wonder once we began to suspect her of having some part in Sir Gilrae's death, but even then I didn't know for certain until Briony confirmed who his accuser was this morning. So, Ædwige's claim to her steward yesterday that she was going to bring you into the crypt this morning to examine Sir Gilrae's body ended up being just a ruse?_

 _Yes. She probably told him that to keep him from calling anyone else in. That's the only logical reason for the ruse that I can imagine._

She sensed his nod. _That makes sense. Be very careful, heart. At least now you've shared with me everything you've managed to learn so far, but you could still be in a lot of danger if she comes to suspect what you've observed and put together, especially if she finds out you've been scrying to discover her secrets._

She could feel his worry through their link. _I'll be all right, cariad. Tomorrow we'll be on our way home._

 _Not nearly soon enough to please me, but that will have to do._ A mental chuckle. _Still, I think I'll be praying for you until I drift off to sleep tonight._

Helena smiled in the darkness. _Well, far be it from me to tell a bishop not to spend his nights in prayer!_

#

 _Eddington Manor  
November 5, 1136—shortly after midnight_

She lay awake afterward, unable to sleep, her mind still awhirl with the day's discoveries and refusing to settle into slumber. At last an idea came to mind that refused to go away. The entire household was asleep now, she was sure of it, and would likely remain so until dawn at the very earliest. What if she were to sneak out and visit the Eddington family vault under cover of darkness, while all in the household were abed? She would have to rely on her Deryni powers to lend her extra stealth, of course; there was too much at stake for her to be careless. But if she could bring back something to Master Janos that could prove once and for all that Sir Gilrae had been poisoned—some physical evidence that Ædwige knew nothing about and which she therefore could not know to dispose of before they reached the Schola—maybe that could help tighten their net around the murderous young widow.

What was it that Master Janos had told her about the physical traces of mortweed? She searched her mind for what the Healer and the Schola's infirmarian had shared with her the afternoon before she and Lady Ædwige had set forth for Eddington. There was a rust-colored staining, she'd been told, that would be the most certain sign if Sir Gilrae had ingested mortweed before his death. The stain was usually missed unless one was looking for it, because most people were buried or at least sealed in a coffin as soon as possible after their deaths, but this staining took a week or two to develop. Still, after this many months, if their suspicions were correct, the inside surfaces of Sir Gilrae's well-preserved mouth ought to be a bright rusty color. So would the lining of his esophagus and his stomach lining as well, though Helena would hardly need to do a full autopsy to determine all that. A simple peek into his mouth, or perhaps even his lips, if they were parted enough to show the mucosa within, ought to suffice for the task.

Still, would even witnessing Sir Gilrae's body firsthand be enough? Surely the Earl of Danos would be minded to accept a Deryni's witness of such evidence, if he had sought out Duke Alaric's counsel on the matter, might even be willing to allow one to Mind-Share what she had seen. But would Master Hugh the coroner for Danoc accept her account of things, or would he be more likely to dismiss her statement as hearsay unless given some sort of proof for her words? Though what sort of proof _could_ she present? She could hardly sneak Sir Gilrae's corpse back to Rhemuth singlehandedly and under his widow's nose, after all.

Though perhaps some stained portion of the late knight's body, such as his tongue, might be easier to conceal...

No! Helena suppressed a shudder at the thought. Wouldn't it be considered desecration of a body, to violate a corpse so? Or would the fact that it was meant to redress some greater good, to bring justice to a man who had almost certainly been most vilely wronged, serve to mitigate the sin, perhaps make it not even sin at all, but simply unpleasant necessity? She wished Duncan were here to discuss the matter with; she was no theologian, after all, despite her laywoman's interest in Holy Writ, such as she understood it. She briefly considered trying to contact him again, but she could sense that he had fallen asleep already and she was loath to disturb his slumber after his day of travel.

She found herself matching action to her thoughts, dressing swiftly and summoning up rarely used skills of self-concealment to move stealthily out of her chamber and downstairs, out of the manor house and through the garden to the outbuildings beyond, until at last she stood before the mausoleum doors, still unsure what it was she meant to do if she could gain entry to the tomb, if she could actually see Sir Gilrae's body for herself, but she felt driven to complete the task she'd been sent here to do. The doors remained locked as they had been earlier that morning after the funeral, a heavy chain passing through stout rings in the doors and secured with a dangling padlock, but that would be scant deterrent to a trained Deryni's powers. Helena cupped the padlock in her hands, using her Deryni gifts to sense the workings deep within and how they needed to be manipulated in order to disengage the latch.

#

Ædwige also lay awake in the early morning hours, afraid she had made the wrong decision. There was no way Magistra Helena could know what she had concealed beneath Bootsy's corpse, nestled in final rest on his bed of folded leather, but still, what if she questioned Ædwige's decision to bring her beloved kitten back to Rhemuth for burial or, worse yet, decided for some reason to open the carrier and wondered at the thickness of padding beneath him? No, perhaps she ought to get rid of the poison-stained shirts and the broken glass after all. She didn't wish to simply toss them out onto the heap where the rest of the manorial garbage was deposited for fear they would somehow come to the notice of prying eyes, but she couldn't risk bringing it all back to the Schola either. After all, where would she get rid of it all there? She'd be faced with the same problem.

No, it would be better by far to just be rid of the whole lot here—well, not Boots, of course, but those hidden articles whose presence was a lot more likely to become problematic if discovered. There was nothing else to be done for it, she would need to dispose of them someplace where no one would ever find them. But where? After a few minutes more thought, she believed she had the answer. It would require her to do a bit of menial labor, but then again, how hard could such labor be, if mere untrained commoners could do it? And she knew where the tools were kept for the job, it was just a matter of doing it now, while the entire household was still asleep and her absence from her bed would not be noted. Not that she didn't intend to use a few Deryni precautions to help ensure no one else noticed what she was about. She couldn't afford to be careless now, not with her life at stake, as it certainly would be if anyone were to suspect what her kitten's carrier actually contained.

She donned dark clothing and gloves, carefully removing Boots from his carrier so she could remove the rest of its contents to something else…what, though?…yes, her old sewing basket would do. Dumping out the basket's contents into a nearby clothes storage chest, she filled it with the incriminating items and covered it again. She paused a moment to stroke Bootsy's soft fur, grateful for the coolness of the season that had evidently kept him from starting to turn foul yet, and replaced him in his carrying chest turned into a makeshift coffin. She hoped her good luck would continue until she could bury him in Rhemuth. Closing his carrier, she took hold of the basket of rubbish and ventured out into the night.

#

Helena paused briefly once as she thought she heard the shift of pebbles along the garden walk nearby. She froze in place, wondering if someone else might be wandering the manor grounds so early in the morning after all, in these dark hours when all should be asleep. After a moment, though, she saw no movement to go along what what she'd thought she'd heard, and although she attuned her Deryni senses in that direction, she heard no more sounds, so she put the disturbance down to her own anxieties and finished slipping the padlock from the chain.

#

Ædwige slipped into the small shed at the periphery of the garden, creating a dim sphere of handfire just long enough to locate a shovel in its dark interior. Dousing the light swiftly, she withdrew from the garden shed, carrying shovel and basket further down the garden walk toward the end of the grounds, past the mausoleum on one side and the stables further down on the other. The pebbled path would eventually end, but from that point she would see the smaller, less traveled dirt path leading to the forest's edge. There under the cover of the trees, safe out of sight of prying eyes, she intended to bury what she'd come out here to hide, covering the patch of turned earth afterward with such leaves, humus, and underbrush as she could gather nearby. She need not dig too far down, she figured; there was nothing in the basket that any animal might confuse for food which might inspire some hungry beast to unearth if after she was gone. As long as she didn't attempt to hide it right on the forest path, but a little to one side of it, and if she were to put a concealment ward over the spot that would last long enough for nature to erase any signs that the ground had ever been disturbed, she had every hope of keeping her secret hidden forever.

As she drew closer to the mausoleum, something odd caught her eye. Were the doors of the family tomb ever so slightly ajar? She couldn't be sure from this distance yet, but something seemed amiss about them. She was certain that Martin Steward had locked the tomb securely after the last of the mourning family and clergy had exited the vault; she'd seen him do it. Who could be poking about in the Eddington vault, and more to the point, why?

Ædwige was filled with a sense of sudden foreboding as she left the main path and hastened to investigate what was happening.

#

As Helena had noted during the funeral that morning, the door leading from the ground level of the vault into the underground crypt was not locked at all, nor was the passageway that led to the lower level particularly steep. She surmised this was to aid in the removal of caskets like Sir Gilrae's to the lower level when more room was required at the top, but whatever the reason, she was grateful enough not to have to negotiate a steep stairway in the dark.

Though there was little need for absolute darkness at the moment, now was there? Helena briefly cast her senses into the near distance, checking to ensure that no one else stirred within or just outside the mausoleum, but she felt no one close by, so after ensuring that the upper passage door was not of the sort that would latch closed behind her if she were to shut it, she pushed it closed and lit a sphere of handfire, sending it floating down the passage before her. The way down ended at a level landing with a turn through an archway wide enough to accommodate a man's length and slightly more, and as Helena rounded that angle, she found herself in a small chamber with arched ceilings, lined with ossuaries, a stone casket set before them. Unlit torches filled holders bracketed to the stone walls, but Helena created a larger luminary of handfire which would be sufficient for her purpose and easier to move into the proper position to see what she needed to. She studied the stone lid of the coffin, wondering if it would be too heavy for her to shift out of place unaided. The foot of the coffin faced to the East, as was customary, so that Sir Gilrae would arise facing Jerusalem at the Lord Jesú's Second Coming. All were customarily buried thus, at least if buried in keeping with Church ritual, except for priests, who slept in death as they'd served in life, facing towards the faithful believers they'd been shepherds to.

This end of the coffin, then, would contain Sir Gilrae's head. All Helena needed now was some means by which she could lift up and temporary shift one end of the heavy stone lid just the little bit she'd need to gain a good view of Sir Gilrae's face and perhaps, if necessary, reach in just enough to peek inside his mouth briefly. All her concentration focused on the task at hand, she failed to take note of another presence now close enough to be felt easily, had she been casting out her senses at that particular moment.

#

As Ædwige had feared, the doors to the mausoleum were slightly ajar, the chain dangling uselessly from one of its loops. She took a cautious peek inside, summoning handfire when the dim moonlight overhead proved insufficient to the task of lighting the burial vault where Lady Catherine's remains lay, despite the widening of the doors' opening. No one appeared to be within, though as she cautiously cast her senses outward, she sensed a presence down below her. Not some unfamiliar grave robber, as she'd almost hoped for—not that she longed to encounter such outlaws, but at least that would mean their entry into the Eddington tomb was more likely a random act and not, as she now feared, a sign that someone else suspected how her late husband had actually met his death and was now attempting to seek proof for the theory. The tight shields she brushed against were all too familiar, and Ædwige barely managed to suppress a cry of fear and rage at the betrayal. Why was Magistra Helena poking around where she had no business being?

There could only be one answer. And although Ædwige regretted the necessity, for she had been quite fond of the Servant of Saint Camber, she could hardly allow her to return to Rhemuth now, if she might have learned something that would betray her secrets to others in the Schola or, worse yet, the King. No, if Sister Helena were so fond of tombs, she could remain in one, at least for long enough for Ædwige to work out what to do next.

Ædwige quickly made her way out again, drawing the heavy chain back through both door loops. The padlock! Oh good, there it was, lying in the shadows nearby. She drew the latch back through the links of the chain and secured it through the barrel of the lock. It had been sheer happenstance that the Eddington vault had been secured with a lock that was not built directly into the door but which lay completely outside of it, separated from the inside by a thick layer of metal-reinforced wood. Ædwige suspected that it would be much more difficult for any Deryni to open such a lock psychically without being able to make direct contact with it, but just to ensure Sister Helena's inability to escape, she took the precaution of securing the lock itself with a spell of protection. Let her get out of that!

In the meantime, the dark of night would not remain forever, and Ædwige had even more work to do before she could return to the safety of her bed. Grim-faced, she took up shovel and basket again, heading towards the forest to dig a much deeper hole than she'd originally planned.

#

Helena sensed too late the brief brush of mind against mind and froze. After a moment, the other presence withdrew.

The magistra's mind reeled with near panic. Now that she'd been discovered—and by Ædwige, of all people!—there was little she could think to do but flee, ride under cover of darkness as fast and as far as she could go until she was certain of escape, and then hopefully make her way to the Earl's Court in Danoc—a far closer destination than Rhemuth—with what she'd learned thus far. She rued the impulse now that had brought her to take the risk of trying to break into the Eddington crypt and gather more evidence to seal the case against the young widow; she knew now that she'd taken a far greater risk than she ought to have, and had now managed to fulfill Duncan's greatest fears for her.

Duncan! If she could just get to Danoc's Court, maybe he'd already be there by the time she arrived with her tale, and he could vouch for her and lend credence to her story. _If_ she could get to the stables in time and flee before Ædwige could manage some way to stop her. Unless she left right now, that was hardly likely; Ædwige might be raising a hue and cry even now, calling on her household to stop a grave robbery, and she could think of little she might say in her own defense if the Eddington staff chose to side with their young mistress. If, perhaps, Ædwige had an ally or two among the household servants, they would make certain Helena never got to explain her reasons for breaking into the crypt.

Helena doused the larger handfire, using the other to light her way as she dashed swiftly back upstairs, only to find herself trapped inside the Eddington family tomb.

#

Duncan McLain awoke with a start, startling his horse into wakefulness as well. His small escort—the four men-at-arms the Archbishop had supplied from the Cathedral Guard to provide his Auxiliary Bishop with protection from the dangers of the road—did not stir, yet his every sense screamed danger, and at first he thought there was some enemy nearby, some brigand perhaps who had skirted too close to the well-warded camp where Duncan and his retainers had ended their journey for a brief rest before continuing on to the Earl's court. But then he caught a flash of Helena's fear through the bond between them, and although her mind was too unfocused for him to establish enough of a link between them to find out from her exactly what had happened, he suddenly knew that he couldn't afford to continue his journey towards Aubrey Gillespie's court as originally planned. No, evidently the very worst had happened—he'd managed to catch _that_ much from Helena's surge of fear at least—and she was in dire peril.

Where, exactly, was Eddington Manor from his current location, still several miles north and a little west of Concaradine? Duncan was not entirely sure, yet for now the bond between him and his beloved remained, a tenuous lifeline showing him the direction he must travel. He could only pray that his arrival there would not end up being too late.


	29. Part II--Chapter 20

**Chapter Twenty**

 _Eddington Manor  
November 5, 1136—a few hours before dawn_

Ædwige wiped her brow with a fold of her cloak, upset by her lack of progress. Finding Sister Helena in the Eddington crypt had upset all of her plans. While it was true that stumbling upon her there was a fortuitous find—not discovering what she was up to until their return to Rhemuth together, where the magistra would have been able to disclose Ædwige's hard-kept secret, would have been catastrophic!—Ædwige was at a loss as to what to do with her now. It was obvious that the magistra would need to be silenced, and the most certain way to do that would be to just do away with her and hide her body someplace where it would never be found, but as Ædwige was belatedly realizing, this was much easier decided than accomplished.

Not only was she discovering that it was much harder than she'd realized to dig a hole in the ground deep enough to hide a body in without any risk of scavengers detecting it and digging it back up again, she'd also had time to realize as she continued tossing shovelfuls of dirt aside that even if she could manage to kill the magistra and bury her in this makeshift grave, then hide it and return to the manor house in time for her own absence to go unnoticed, how would she manage to hide Sister Helena's disappearance from her household? Granted, they had planned to leave together for Rhemuth quite early, at first light, so it was possible that Ædwige could slip away virtually unnoticed by most of her servants and they'd simply believe the magistra had gone with her. Later, upon arriving in Rhemuth, Ædwige could concoct some story about having been accosted by brigands upon the way, or something of the sort, and say she'd managed to escape but that they'd fled into the woods carrying poor Sister Helena off with them. Or something along those lines; she was sure she could manufacture a believable enough tale on the ride back to Court. But no, that would only work if she and Helena had planned to slip off with absolutely no one to see them away, or to offer them safe escort back to Rhemuth, and that was hardly the case. Martin Steward would know immediately that his mistress was missing her chaperone, and so would the stable grooms and the two or three men Martin picked to join their escort back. And Mistress Nell might also notice the magistra's absence and remark on it.

So no, that would hardly do. Sister Helena would have to be seen alive, but then once the small band of travelers started off together towards Rhemuth, how could she work things out so that Helena never arrived there without raising any suspicions among her men-at-arms? Of course, they were all merely human; was it possible that she might somehow manage to gain control over them along the way, so that when a suitable time came along the route, her servants could overpower the magistra for her somehow, or help her to do so, and even find a way to dispose of Sister Helena, all without realizing what they were doing? Afterward, she could alter their memories of the event to make it even more plausible they'd been attacked along the way. Their stories would even stand up to a Truth-Reading, and as for herself... well, it might be riskier for _her_ , but if she acted distraught enough and clearly in no frame of mind to be questioned about her ordeal, then perhaps she'd not be questioned at all.

Even _that_ risk was more than she really wanted to chance, but it was a far better risk than allowing Helena to return to Rhemuth alive, so she might have little choice now. She uttered an unladylike curse under her breath as she shoved the shovel into the soft ground in disgust.

But wait... What if she told a half truth, and let others believe what would seem to them more plausible than any notion that their mistress might kill one of her teachers in cold blood? What if she told them that she'd headed for the stables to make sure all was ready for their departure this morning, and when she'd happened up the garden path, she'd noticed the mausoleum's doors ajar, and upon investigating she found Sister Helena in the act of trying to desecrate the tomb for some reason? She'd given chase, but Helena had slipped off into the forest, and afraid of getting lost if she ventured too far beyond the manor, Ædwige might say that she'd returned to the manor house to raise the hue and cry. But what if they should ask her _why_ the magistra would wish to break into the family tomb? Would that point too much of their attention towards her late husband? Maybe not, if Ædwige could convince them she'd found Sister Helena in the upper vault trying to open the Lady Catherine's coffin instead. Her mother-in-law had been buried wearing her marriage ring, after all—an emerald of rather fine quality. Ædwige had been quite aggrieved by this at the time, wanting the heirloom for herself and believing it was her due as the woman's daughter-in-law, but it had apparently long been known among the household servants that her dearest wish was to be buried with this love token given to her by her late husband, so there had been no graceful way to convince the entire household differently. She had originally planned to claim the ring later, once Lady Catherine's body was decomposed enough to be removed to an ossuary, but for now perhaps it was just as well the old biddy had been buried with it. Ædwige could claim that Sister Helena had been motivated by greed to try to steal the ring before they left Eddington, and that fortunately she had arrived in time to catch the magistra at this heinous act of grave-robbery. That was a motivation they could easily believe, and it would also serve to explain why the magistra would have fled once she was caught in her act of thievery.

And of course, they would search for Sister Helena, but they'd not find her, for she'd be dead by then, lying deep underground in a concealed grave. Ædwige would ensure its secrecy by means of concealing wards until such time as the search died down completely. For that matter, she could ensure no one else discovered the secret of Gilrae's stubbornly undecomposing body by casting a glamour upon it which would make it appear just as everyone else expected it to look three months after interment. It was true she might have to alter the memories of the few men who knew that he was still well preserved, but that would be something easy enough to do later. Or perhaps she might even convince them that their accidental dropping of the coffin lid had somehow exposed him to enough light and air to hasten the decomposition process again. At any rate, within a year she could simply order him removed and boiled down to bone, and placed in an ossuary where he belonged, and he'd no longer be a threat to her safety.

She would still need an accomplice for all these plans, of course, but she would need only one, and controlling Martin Steward would be far more manageable than trying to mind-control an entire escort of guards.

There were those in Rhemuth who might question her story, of course. But with the entire household of Eddington ranged against them, angry at the magistra's perfidy and well able to withstand any Truth-Reading due to their sincere belief in their mistress's story, and Ædwige herself locked away in her bedchamber refusing to grant anyone an audience, so deep would be her own distress, any questioners from Court or the Schola would eventually have to reach the reluctant conclusion that perhaps Sister Helena was not quite the shining light of virtue that everyone had assumed her to be. Especially if... _yes_ , what if she were to allow Helena's body to be discovered someday after all, the incriminating ring still on her person rather than remaining safely on Lady Catherine's finger? The forest was a dangerous place, as everyone knew. It could be made to appear that she'd fallen into a boar trap and died there, still carrying the evidence of her greed. She knew there were some nearby, already dug quite deep and lined with sharp spikes meant to impale unwary beasts who fell into the traps, though of course they would serve to create a plausible means of death for an unwary fugitive just as well. The ring would then be returned to Ædwige, and rather than risk it being stolen again, she would lay claim to it as she'd wanted to all along, saying she had no intention of allowing it to serve as bait for future robbers to try their hand at desecrating the family tomb to gain it and that she intended to lock it away for its protection in future. No one in her household would blame her for keeping it then, especially if she told them she meant some day to give it to Lady Catherine's grandson. Which she supposed she _might_ actually do someday, in her will at least. Unlike that idiot Catherine, she hardly supposed she could take the jewel with her into the afterlife!

Yes, that plan seemed best of all. She hardly had time to accomplish setting it all up in one morning, but she could at least suborn Martin to help her hide the magistra's body for now, secure the ring, and then leave the rest to be done later, perhaps late tonight.

#

Helena leaned her head against the locked doors, trying not to weep. She had tried to use her Deryni gifts to access the locking mechanism in the padlock hanging on the other side of the door, but without direct access to the lock, she could only summon up the vaguest of visualizations. Something else seemed to be directly interfering with her ability to focus on its workings. She suspected that Ædwige had added her own protections to the lock, not trusting in the inherent difficulties of unlocking a hanging lock one had no direct access to, when it came to guaranteeing the security of her makeshift prison.

There was no help for it, then. The mausoleum doors were too thick for her to break through, even if she had some suitable tool which might be used for doing so, and attempting to burn the metal-clad wood down would more likely use up all of the air in the small confined chamber before the fire could eat through the doors enough for Helena to crash through them that way. No, her best hope of survival at this point was for her to conserve what energies she had left, in order to maximize her chances of making some swift bid for escape once Ædwige returned to let her back out. For Ædwige would certainly need to return sometime soon. After all, by daybreak the household would be stirring, expecting their mistress and her guest to be readying for their journey back to the Schola, and if Helena had failed to put in an appearance by that point, the servants might start looking for her. It would only be a matter of time before one came close enough to hear her shouts through the locked door, might even come close enough for her to touch his mind directly with a plea for help. True, she would have to explain how she'd ended up in the crypt, but hopefully whoever found her would be someone whose loyalties to his late master were far stronger than to his present mistress, and her attempts at explanation for her actions would not fall on deaf ears. She could at least ask to make appeal to the Earl of Danoc for a hearing.

But Ædwige would also be aware that if Helena could catch the attention and sympathetic ear of one of her household, she might be set free, so it was almost certain that she would be first to return to the tomb, to do whatever plan she had cooked up in the meantime to rid herself of the magistra who had become too much of a danger to her. For Helena realized that Ædwige surely must have guessed her purpose for being in her husband's family's crypt, and if she had not hesitated to kill once, she would probably not hesitate to do so yet again.

Helena longed to try to call out across her link to Duncan, yearning for the comfort of his mind-touch to calm her fears, but she dared not expend the energy. Every bit of power she could spare must be saved up for survival now.

#

Ædwige barely managed to suppress her annoyance by the time she returned to the mausoleum, her steward in tow. He'd been harder to locate than she'd counted on; rather than being in his own bed convenient to her chambers as he ought to have been, he had been curled up on his wife's pallet instead, the old lecher, not to mention stark naked, which was a sight Ædwige could have spent the rest of her years quite content never to see. So she'd had to take steps first to make sure Mistress Nell remained asleep before turning her attentions to securing her controls deep within Martin's sleeping mind, by which time, having spent most of the night awake, she'd needed to do a fatigue-banishing spell on herself before awakening the steward to do her bidding. But he was responding well enough now, if looking rather more like a sleepwalker than his normal alert self. Given the early pre-dawn hour of the morning, though, at least _that_ would hardly be surprising if anyone should chance to spot them walking the grounds together so early.

#

Helena's heart gave a sudden leap of hope as she recognized the presence she felt approaching the mausoleum. It was not Ædwige after all, as she'd feared, but Martin the steward whose proximity she felt coming closer with every step. Did she dare call out to him, or did his presence mean that Lady Ædwige was also waiting someplace close by? She considered trying to cast her senses further outward in search for her, but before she could do so, she was distracted by the sound of the padlock latch becoming disengaged. Martin was coming back into the tomb, then. Had he been sent here, or was he just doing some sort of routine check for reasons of his own?

The door opened, and the steward entered, looking unsurprised to see her staring back.

"I'm sorry, m'lady, but I'm to take you into custody," he told her, his voice sounding curiously flat.

"I can explain my presence here," Helena supplied hastily, attempting to touch the man's mind in hopes of swaying him into giving her a fair hearing. Her hopes that she could persuade him to allow her to escape whatever vengeful plan his mistress undoubtedly had in store for her vanished as she realized that his mind was shrouded from her touch.

"There's no need, Magistra Helena. I already know why you're here. You're after the Eddington emerald."

"I... I'm sorry, what?" Helena stared at the man, bewildered, caught off guard by the wholly unexpected reply. "But... I don't understand..."

"Aye, you do." The steward tilted his head towards Lady Catherine's coffin behind her. Helena glanced in that direction, a move she realized a moment later was a mistake. A glimpse of movement caught out of the corner of her eye heralded a sudden change in Martin's posture, but before she could turn her full attention back to him, something hard slammed into the side of her head and she crumpled to the ground, fully unconscious.

#

"Oh, nicely done, Martin!" exclaimed Ædwige as she entered to find her steward standing motionless above her magistra's limp form, the shovel she'd handed him earlier still held at the ready. "Now, we need to check Lady Catherine's tomb, don't we? We need to show the rest of the household what naughty Sister Helena was caught doing."

Martin nodded slowly. He set the shovel to one side, heaving at one end of the coffin lid to crack it open. Ædwige followed suit from the other end, lending her natural strength as well as a little boost of Deryni-assisted power. The lid shifted readily to one side, and Ædwige slipped a hand in the gap that appeared between coffin and lid, as if to check her theory. She slid a hand over Lady Catherine's dead fingers, barely suppressing a gag of disgust as her fingers closed over the ring and tugged it off fingers swollen from the effects of just over a week's decomposition. She drew her hand back out, quietly pocketing the ring in her belt pouch as she did so—both would require copious scrubbing later!—and shook her head sadly as she did so. "Yes, it's gone, just as I thought. We shall have to get it back from Sister Helena later, but for the moment, we've not got the time to search her. Let's just go ahead and move her from here before the household awakens."

"Aye, mistress," murmured Martin, under too much control to question his lady's rather unorthodox instructions. He picked up Helena's limp form, hefting the woman over his shoulder like a sack of turnips, and carried her out, continuing down the path towards the forest as Lady Ædwige's control in his mind had directed him.

#

Duncan fought down a surge of panic as he suddenly lost contact with Helena through their psychic bond. He didn't think she was dead—surely, deep down in his soul, he would _know_ if she'd been sundered from him completely—but instead of total absence, what he felt seemed more like an unnatural quiet. Perhaps she'd simply lost consciousness, then, although that in itself was a dire portent that something was terribly wrong.

How close was he to Eddington Manor now? He knew that he and his small entourage had been traveling in the right direction, despite having little else to assure him of his proper course aside from the deep level of psychic bonding that had joined him with Helena both mind to mind and heart to heart. But now, at least for the moment, he didn't have even that connection left, or at least not on a level that he was able to consciously trace and follow anymore. He knew he could not be too far off now, though. He and his escort had had to stop at one of the royal way-stations that had fortuitously been right along the route, for their horses were exhausted and he'd had to arrange for the loan of fresh ones. Fortunately the sight of his bishop's ring and a letter stamped with Kelson's seal had quelled any protest his unexpected appearance might have caused, and he'd been able to verify that he was on the correct route, but exactly how much further he had to go, he couldn't guess.

The party approached a crossroad, and Duncan's gut instinct prompted him to rein in his mount. He signaled for the leader of his small entourage to join him for a quick conference.

"Madoc," the bishop instructed quietly, "I need you and Eadric to ride on ahead to the Earl's Court and deliver my message to him. Tell him I had to divert to Eddington Manor and why. Otho and Eanrigh will remain with me." Touching the man's arm, he Sent a brief but thorough explanation directly into the man's mind through the shallow link he'd just established.

Madoc's eyes widened slightly at the unexpected influx of information, but he'd known the Deryni bishop for too long to be alarmed. "Aye, my lord." The senior man-at-arms turned to summon Eadric to his side.

Duncan and his two remaining men-at arms continued on, remaining on the route towards Eddington while Madoc and Eadric turned towards Danoc. He uttered a quick prayer, continuing onward by sheer determined faith, ever searching deep within for that tenuous connection with Helena to reappear again even as his eyes warily scanned his outward surroundings.

#

It was her not too gentle landing on fragrant earth that jolted Helena back to semi-consciousness. She sensed danger nearby, and the different smells and sounds around her told her that she was no longer in the Eddington tomb, although she didn't think she'd been brought too far afield from the manor grounds. Helena opened her eyes just the tiniest fraction, peeking through her lashes and nearly closed eyelids, but there was barely more than the faintest trace of light in the sky still, and that was mostly obscured by mottled shadows. Somewhere close by, she heard a rhythmic sound, a scrape of some object against another surface.

A faint tilt of her head in that direction brought a fierce twinge of pain shooting through her head, and she felt a quick dizziness and surge of nausea. She suppressed both, barely able to hold back a moan of distress, but willed herself to stay silent, not wanting to call anyone's attention to herself. The slight change of angle showed her a glimpse of booted feet, not many steps distant. The sound she'd heard was from a shovel, widening an opening in the ground.

Ædwige stepped into view. She carelessly tossed a basket into this hole, then tilted her head towards Helena, who swiftly shut her eyes again lest the young widow notice she'd regained consciousness.

"All right, we haven't time for more. At least it's deep enough to hold her for now. Go ahead and put her in."

 _Put her in?_ Helena's mind screamed in silent horror as she began to understand what Ædwige intended to do to her. She risked another peek through lowered lashes. The steward appeared, his blank stare at her as he came into view convincing Helena that his mind was not under his own control at that moment, and that any attempt to appeal to him for mercy would be fruitless. Was she in any shape to fight back at the moment, to escape being buried alive as Ædwige evidently planned on doing to her? Or perhaps Ædwige had assumed she was already dead, and was simply disposing of what she believed to be a corpse?

Martin lowered her into the makeshift grave which, to Helena's vast relief, was not as deep as it ought to be. Indeed, if only she could find some way of staying conscious long enough for them to cover her over, she might still be able to dig her way back up to the surface once they left. The edge of the hole was no more than a few inches above her head, after all, from what she could tell when she risked another quick peek.

But dared she risk that, or might she die in the attempt to fool her captors into thinking her truly dead? Might it not be better to try to escape, to stumble away from them under the cover of dense forest that surrounded her? Would her body, in its currently weakened and dazed state, allow her to even try?

And then she felt her beloved Duncan—close by, so very close now. Close enough? She used the last of her fading energy to send him a burst of thought, sharing with him in that brief second of contact what was happening to her, and where. She had just enough reserve left afterward to begin sinking deeply into a hibernation trance that she hoped would preserve her long enough to survive her shallow burial if Duncan could not reach her in time to prevent it.


	30. Part II--Chapter 21

**Chapter Twenty-One**

 _Forest just outside Eddington Manor  
November 5, 1136—just before dawn_

Time had run out for Helena, and with it any leisure Duncan might have had to make a stealthy, cautious approach. He charged towards the spot off the forest trail where his soul knew Helena lay, until the undergrowth grew so close that he had to abandon his borrowed horse to make more speed on foot, hastily handing his mount off to Eanrigh before hacking his way through the dense growth with his sword until he reached a small clearing, little more than a wide animal trail, he surmised. Just ahead, he spotted them—the startled blonde scholar and her manservant—the man gazing back at him in seeming confusion, a shovelful of earth still poised above the shallow grave.

Behind him, more crashing in the underbrush heralded the arrival of his escort, the two men-at-arms following after him readily enough, if seeming rather confused by his sudden departure from the road. Duncan stopped at the clearing's edge, signaling for the men to flank him, hoping that between the three of them they might prevent the deadly young widow and her servant from escaping. Ædwige's eyes widened with fear, and she gave an instinctive leap back from the charging men, one hand flying up to ward them off with a blast of uncontrolled power. A surge of emerald lightning crackled through the winter-bare branches surrounding them, the bolt aimed in Duncan's general direction but so hastily summoned and thrown with no attempt at caution, much less any thought to protecting bystanders, that the young scholar's steward found himself thrown from his feet and tossed several feet to one side, his hair and clothing singed. Duncan himself had narrowly missed taking any of the charge, leaping to one side and rolling out of the line of fire.

The move brought him temporarily out of Ædwige's line of sight, and he took a moment to reorient himself, blinking rapidly in an attempt to clear his vision of the after-image produced by the dazzling flash of light. He had landed a few feet closer to his objective, although the dazed steward lay between him and where Helena lay. He heard a moan to his right and peered through the dark shadows to see Otho curled on the ground nearby, clutching charred hands to his chest. Apparently one of the bolts of power had struck his steel sword, traveling up the length of it to overcome its wielder. The other man-at-arms was nowhere to be seen. Duncan stifled a low curse.

"Lady Ædwige," he called out from his concealed position, "let us settle this according to the ancient rites, by formal Duel Arcane just between the two of us. Our men need have no part in our dispute." Duncan cast his man-at-arms another sidelong glance, wondering if he could make it to the man's side in order to Heal his wounds without his movement betraying their position. It seemed unlikely; even if he could reach Otho's side, Duncan could hardly spare the energy and focus needed to Heal him just then.

A breathless laugh sounded from nearby. "A Duel Arcane? I hardly think so, Father! Why would I want to give _you_ the advantage? I mean to survive, whatever it takes. I hardly need any of your stupid rules to do _that_."

"And what of your steward, then? Do you mean for him to survive as well? You nearly caught him in that surge of power you sent my way. He could be badly hurt, even killed, if we don't contain the energies of our magic. You know that." He crept along the ground until he had a clear view of her again. She was mere feet from him, turned slightly away, although as she listened to his voice she started to turn in his direction.

"Why should I care? It's his job to live or die for me against all manner of folk, isn't it? He swore me homage."

"The oath to protect and serve runs both ways, Ædwige." Duncan wondered if he had sufficient control to direct a small blast of concentrated magical power at the lady before him, but after taking a closer look at her surroundings, he stifled the impulse. There was too great a danger of harming Helena in the process, and at this proximity he could sense that she was still alive, albeit injured and in deep trance. "And it matters little if you kill me or not, that won't protect your secret. Others already know what you've done. But you can still throw yourself on the King's mercy, if you don't compound your crime by adding to it."

"You have no proof!" she cried out, her voice shrill. "And even if I _did_ kill Gilrae, what mercy would the King show me?"

Duncan mentally noted the tacit admission of guilt; he'd never mentioned _which_ crime it was that others were aware of; therefore, for her to leap to that assumption seemed a clear enough indication that she had good reason to fear she'd been linked to her late husband's death.

"You were forced unwillingly into your marriage. That does not excuse murder, but there might be those sympathetic enough to your plight to allow you to spend the rest of your days in a convent rather than have to face the sentence of the executioner's sword, _if_ you turn yourself in and throw yourself on the King's mercy now rather than do any more harm." Duncan rather doubted it, personally—Ædwige's crimes were already too great for Kelson to show her any leniency, he suspected—but until he could get close enough to subdue her, he had to at least try to win her trust.

A faint flicker of movement in the shadows nearby alerted him to the whereabouts of Eanrigh, his uninjured companion, further down the animal trail and circling around stealthily to Ædwige's rear. It would be only a matter of time until she either saw or sensed him there, unless Duncan could keep her attention focused on himself. He rose from his crouched position, stepping forward into a clearer space so Ædwige could see him. He knew his shields would provide some protection for him should she try another magical attack, although such an assault would be highly unpleasant. She could hardly sustain such tactics indefinitely, though. There were compelling reasons why magic was rarely used in combat; it was far too tiring to keep up the required energies, not to mention the necessary focus and concentration, over an extended period of time. Hopefully that realization had not yet occurred to the inexperienced scholar. If he could draw her fire without overtaxing his own energies for a few minutes longer, she'd be too weak and vulnerable to resist a more conventional attack once she had spent the reserves of her power.

But his men-at-arms were merely human, and Otho had already withstood one hit, and an indirect one at that, or it would have killed him outright. Even now his injuries might be mortal, although Duncan hoped not. Duncan couldn't afford to let Ædwige notice Eanrigh's steady approach from behind her.

Ædwige's beautiful features tightened in anger as she spotted the bishop, and as he'd predicted, she cast another furious blast in his direction. As her hand was coming up, Duncan swiftly sidestepped behind a tree, letting it catch the worst of the blast. He sent up a silent prayer of thanksgiving that it had not been a particularly dry autumn; the sparks of flying bark that singed his hair as they flew by were bad enough without adding worries about the crazed young widow starting a forest fire to his most immediate problems.

Then two things happened nearly simultaneously. The steward, recovering enough from his stunned state to notice his mistress was in trouble, and still at least somewhat under her control, leaped forward into Duncan's field of view, crying out a warning. Eanrigh, hearing the man's cry, also lunged forward just at that moment, his blade swinging forward to rest at Ædwige's throat before Duncan could call out or Mind-Send him a warning not to make direct contact with their Deryni attacker. She took an involuntary step backwards, colliding with Eanrigh's chest. His sword lowered slightly, and the smile on Ædwige's face made the bishop's blood run cold.

He ran forward, but Martin tackled him, knocking him slightly off course. Duncan tripped over a gnarled tree root even as Ædwige stepped free of his man-at-arm's grasp, but in that moment, it was clear to him that Eanrigh's mind was no longer his own.

He tried to recover his balance, attempted to bring his sword back up to defend himself, but before he could regain a steady footing Eanrigh's blade thrust forward and upwards, stabbing through both layers of his wool-lined leather jerkin, through the linen worn beneath it, skewering Duncan. The bishop's sword dipped as the shock and pain of the impact and penetration brought him to his knees.

#

 _Forest just outside Eddington Manor  
November 5, 1136—Dawn_

"My... my Lady... what in the world is happening? And... where are we?" Martin Steward stared with dazed eyes at the man lying before him and the second man with the blank look standing nearby, bloody sword in hand. "And... who are these men?"

Ædwige attempted to regain her control over her steward's mind again, only to discover that her energies were too exhausted to resume her hold over him while retaining the one she had on the bishop's man. Fortunately, the bishop was no longer a problem; he had slumped over, apparently unconscious. Or was he just doing some sort of Healing trance on himself? It hardly mattered; Ædwige could not afford to allow him time to recover from his injury.

"They tried to attack me, Martin. Kill them both," she directed her steward, her voice imperious and accustomed to obedience.

But clearly the steward's wits were beginning to return all too swiftly. "Why... is _that_ Sister Helena?! Did... how is she dead?"

Ædwige rolled her eyes. "Martin, come here and see for yourself."

The manservant, his wits still dulled and accustomed to compliance, came closer to peer into the shallow grave. His mistress reached out her hand and compelled him to sleep before turning wearily to the man-at-arms and pulling the sword from his limp hand to finish the job herself. She had no idea how she'd manage to explain away a dead bishop and a magistra yet, but at least the humans could be Mind-wiped, their memories altered to back up whatever story she might come up with later. Maybe Sister Helena's body could still end up in the boar pit as planned, with the incriminating ring on her person, and the bishop and his men could be left by some roadside to look like victims of an outlaw band's ambush. It would help if she knew why he was even here. She'd have to do a Death Reading on him, if she could figure out how. She knew the theory, of course, but it's not like she'd ever had the opportunity to practice.

She could now, though. But first she'd make sure Sister Helena was truly dead, for now that she stood above her grave, seeing her clearly for the first time in the early dawn light, she realized with a shock that the magistra wasn't. She lay nearly as still as a corpse, but the color in her skin and the faint rise and fall of her chest betrayed her.

Ædwige raised the man-at-arm's sword, summoning up the will to plunge it deeply into Sister Helena's heart, when out of the corner of her eye she saw the impossible.

#

Duncan tried to focus on the wound, but he could not. The pain was great, and his body ran cold with shock. But he _must_ get back up; Helena needed him too much. He focused his attention on the bond between them, drawing strength from it—emotional strength, for she could not spare any physical strength for him in her weakened state, and he would not ask that of her—and then he willed himself to do that thing he'd managed only once before, seemingly a lifetime ago rather than mere days. He knew not why he did it, only that his instincts screamed of the need for him to go to his beloved, if only in spirit.

Duncan's spirit—or his life essence, whatever one might call it—rose up from his limp body and floated towards Ædwige. The young widow's eyes widened, and the sword dropped from her hands—not onto Helena, thank God, but onto the ground just beyond the edge of the newly dug hole where she lay. Duncan smiled coldly at Ædwige, knowing what must be going through her mind as his ghostly form approached her. "Repent," he demanded, his voice sepulchral.

She did no such thing, but her eyes rolled back in her head and she dropped to the ground in a swoon. That would have to do for the moment. He tried to touch her, hoping that he could ensure her continued unconsciousness, but his incorporeal hand passed through—or perhaps around?—her like air. It was too much for him; he had to return to his body lest he risk being sundered from it entirely. Not that he wasn't at high risk of that already, given what he could sense of his injury.

He drew himself back to a body that was weaker than he remembered it being even those few moments earlier. What had weakened him so quickly? He drew on all his strength to reach a hand up to his wound. It bled freely, and from what he could sense of it, he was bleeding out from behind as well.

Had all of his efforts been for nothing, then? Would the Lady of Eddington still wake up in time to carry out her deadly plans, despite his best efforts? That was the last conscious thought on Duncan's mind before his world went black.

#

The dawn's light and faint warmth on her face woke Helena from her trance, and to her great relief, she was not underground. Or at least her face wasn't, although several shovelfuls of earth had been heaped upon her lower body, the dampness of it cold against her body even through her clothing.

She heard no one around her, but she could sense Duncan's presence nearby—close to her, yet alarmingly weak. Casting her senses around her, she could sense no conscious presences in the immediate vicinity, although she sensed several unconscious ones nearby. She rose cautiously, wincing as her head throbbed at the motion. She would need to tend to that immediately, now that it was safe to do so.

Or _almost_ safe. Her face hardened as she spotted Ædwige's limp form beside her makeshift grave. She reached out a hand to Ædwige's forehead, sensing her beginning to return to consciousness. No, _that_ certainly wouldn't happen! Helena locked the murderous widow into an unconscious state that she could not emerge from until properly secured within a locked and warded room to face trial for her deeds.

What had the little bitch done? Helena quickly sifted through Ædwige's temporarily unshielded mind for her most recent memories, her face turning grim as she saw the actions of the past few hours through Ædwige's vantage point. Duncan's injury looked grave; that's where she'd turn her attention first, then, even before tending to her own healing. The other men, with Ædwige's control over their minds broken, would be fine for the moment, and she doubted even Martin Steward would pose any threat to her once he woke up, now that he was restored to his own mind again.

At any rate, that was a chance she would simply have to take, she realized once she saw the alarming amount of blood spreading through Duncan's tunic and the pallor of his skin. She crawled to his side, whimpering softly in fear and from her aching head, gently pushing aside the weeping Eanrigh, who had come to himself enough by now to realize what he had done and who was bent over the bishop's still body, trying to staunch the flow of blood. Helena pushed his hands aside with a murmured word of command, and the man-at-arms sat back, spent and unresisting. She began to study the extent of Duncan's injuries.

#

Duncan returned to consciousness enough to sense her loving touch upon his body, felt her fumbling with the buckled straps of his jerkin. She drew the blood-soaked leather off his chest, using Eanrigh's belt knife to cut and peel away the torn linen of his tunic to expose his wound. Under more normal circumstances, his jerkin would have provided adequate protection against the usual hazards of travel as well as warmth in the November chill. Even if he and his party had been set upon by brigands, his men-at-arms would have closed ranks around him, and should he have had to defend himself personally, the thick padded leather would have provided reasonable protection against the sort of slashing cuts he might have expected to deal with in such an ambush. But it had been designed primarily to ward off the edge of a blade, not a direct stab at extreme close range with the tip of a sword, and the leather beneath the sword tip had given way, punched open and partly into his flesh at the force of the blow, the sharp blade penetrating leather, wool and linen to cut cleanly through skin and muscle, scraping past bone and exiting his body on the other side, although not with enough force by that point to pierce the leather covering his back. Judging from the amount of blood he'd lost already, it had probably nicked a major blood vessel as well, if it had not severed it entirely.

He could do little to help Helena except to use what little remained of his energy to try to slow down his bleeding as much as he could. That, and to lend her whatever strength and encouragement she might draw from the knowledge that, no matter how badly he was injured, he was not dead yet. Helena could Heal his injury—Duncan knew that—but did _she_ realize it, or would her confidence fail her? She was still inexperienced as a Healer, but she was fully capable.

He spared a tiny bit of power for a wordless mind caress before returning all of his focus to the task of staying alive.

#

He was alive, and she'd be damned if she'd let that cunning little she-wolf Ædwige steal this man from her! Helena slipped a hand beneath Duncan's jerkin, cutting away the blood-soaked linen beneath to expose bare flesh.

 _Saint Camber, have mercy on us!_

There was a flask at Duncan's side—whether it contained water or wine, she knew not and didn't take time to inspect—but she uncorked it, sluicing the contents over her fingers to cleanse the dirt from them before plunging them into his wound, probing with flesh and mind to see the extent of the damage. His body bucked slightly at the intrusion, but she couldn't allow that to distract her. She concentrated instead on stopping the flow of life-stealing blood, not allowing herself to focus on any other distraction, not even the disconcerting feeling that someone more sensed than seen was watching her—no, perhaps even assisting her—guiding her hand and lending steady comfort as she began to knit together the displaced tissues, as she slowly drew her fingers back out of the wound, trying to work fast enough to staunch the blood loss quickly yet slowly enough to mend the tissue damage properly. And even as she did so, she could sense that while she had managed to Heal the worst of Duncan's injury, there was still something she'd missed.

 _His back._ That still, small voice was barely audible, even inside her mind, but Helena turned Duncan onto his side, running a hand beneath Duncan's shoulder, underneath leather and fabric, to trace along blood-slicked skin, feeling for an exit wound. Yes, there it was... barely large enough to slip a fingertip into, yet still leaking blood. She felt inside the small wound until her fingertip made contact with the newly Healed tissue inside, and focused her Healing energies on closing that last gap in the rent flesh.

Duncan's body was whole again, so she concentrated her efforts on his mind next, rousing him back to full consciousness so he could sip what was left of his flask's contents, imbibing the life-enhancing liquid that would help his body produce more blood to make up for what he'd lost.

#

 _Eddington Manor  
November 5, 1136—Morning_

The Eddington mausoleum, as Helena had already discovered, made a very effective prison, especially once the entire building was warded, as much for the Lady Ædwige's protection as for her household's protection from their deadly and unpredictable mistress, for once Martin Steward had made it known how he had been ill-used by the lady of the manor and that her actions had nearly resulted in several others' deaths and had almost certainly been the cause of their late master's, the Eddington household was simmering with righteous outrage towards her and swift to tend the magistra's needs and those of the new and unexpected arrivals. Otho and Eanrigh were resting under Mistress Nell's care, the former's burns and shock ministered to beforehand by Sister Helena as Nell and Eanrigh watched in awe, and the bishop lay upstairs in the steward's own chamber. Ædwige's bedchamber—the finest in the manor house—had been offered up for his use first, but Helena had declined on his behalf, knowing that even if Duncan could not consciously sense the negative resonances still lingering in that chamber, they might still be sensed on some subconscious level and adversely impact his recovery. It was not a chance she was willing to take, nor was he at all eager to sleep in the chamber where Sir Gilrae had spent his last labored breath, once he understood which room was being offered.

So it was in the steward's room where Helena sat perched on a bench pulled up close to the steward's low bed, stopping by Duncan's borrowed chamber in her capacity as the more fully-restored Healer to check on the bishop's well-being, since despite her Healing of his physical injuries, his loss of blood would keep his energies low and his overall health more precarious for a few more days to come until his body had time to restore the loss. One of the household chambermaids sat close by with her needlework, dutifully acting as chaperone and remaining on hand to call downstairs for anything that either the bishop or magistra might have need for, should she be asked. Martin had recovered enough from his ordeal to send messengers riding for Danoc and Rhemuth to inform both the Earl and the King of what had happened and that the Lady Ædwige was now in protective custody.

 _I thought I'd lost you_ , she Mind-Spoke, wishing she could know the comfort of Duncan's strong arms around her.

A mental caress, almost as reassuring. _You can never truly lose me, heart. Even once I'm gone, a part of me will always be with you. And there's the next life as well._

 _I know, but somehow I doubt that thought would be very reassuring on those cold, lonely nights in the years ahead while I'm waiting for_ my _turn to die, you dolt!_

He chuckled softly at the asperity in her mental voice. _See, that's why I fell in love with you. You always know just the right things to say to let a man know how much you care._

She stifled a laugh, blinking back tears. _And I don't know why that thought ought to bother me so; it's not like I ever spend any of those cold lonely nights with you anyway, even when you're in full health!_

 _Sure you do, woman; we're just never in the same room._ He opened his eyes briefly, stealing an admiring glance up at her before allowing them to drift shut again. _Do you think you can let a man get a little sleep now, you sweet-tongued, heart-stealing wench? he teased._

Helena stood, stifling a yawn. _I suppose I could, if you'll allow me to do the same._ She couldn't bend to kiss him, certainly not with the chambermaid rising behind her and glancing at her quizzically. But she laid a gentle hand on his forehead as if checking for a fever, and he smiled faintly in reply. Enveloped in his love for her, and reassured of his well-being, she felt content.


	31. Part II--Chapter 22

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

 _The Earl of Danoc's Court at Eddington  
November 10, 1136_

The Earl of Danoc sat in a small room just beyond the dais end of Eddington Manor's Hall, his keen gaze scanning the other faces in the room. He had come to hold a Court of High Justice on charges brought forward to him against one of his vassals, the Lady Ædwige of Eddington. He would ordinarily have heard the case at his own county seat, but due in part to the Auxiliary Bishop of Rhemuth's recent injuries and blood loss and also in part because most of the witnesses involved in the coroner's inquest that had taken place the day before were members of the Eddington household, and Lady Ædwige's more recent actions had been alleged to be related in some way to her late husband's death, he had opted to travel the short distance to Eddington Manor instead in the company of Sir Hugh the Coroner as well as Master Edmund Hollister, his own personal physician. The Earl himself had not weighed in on the inquest directly, although of course the matter of how Sir Gilrae had met his end was of extreme interest to him, both personally and because he knew that Hugh's findings would shed more light on the circumstances that _had_ brought him here this day—the alleged attack on a Schola's magistra and an Auxiliary Bishop's party by one of his vassals. Whether or not a previous murder charge would be added to the charges that had been brought before him of more recent attempted murder remained to be seen, and that was what Sir Hugh and Master Edmund had been invited here to determine. All in all, though, it seemed the Lady Ædwige had much to answer for.

Only a few feet in front of him, displayed upon a table, lay the mortal remains of his old friend Sir Gilrae, for it was customary to have the body of the deceased present for inspection during an inquest if at all possible, so Sir Hugh had had Sir Gilrae's coffin brought up to the courtyard just beyond the Hall for the proceedings the day before. It had been moved to this withdrawing room later, after the Coroner had examined it thoroughly and questioned all of the Eddington household and its guests to discover what each person knew about the last days of Sir Gilrae's life and the events that had led up to his death. At the moment Hugh was somberly studying the uncommonly well-preserved body as the Earl's physician pointed out to the Earl the rusty stains within the dead man's oral cavity.

"Evidence of mortweed poisoning, aye, it does appear that way," the Earl agreed with a nod. "I've heard of that symptom. But you say you saw no sign of it the first time you examined the body, Hugh?"

"I did not, my lord, but then again, I was summoned immediately after Sir Gilrae's death and did the examination as soon as I arrived in Eddington. The stain wouldn't have had time to appear yet."

"How soon after Sir Gilrae's death was that?" the Earl asked.

"Oh, not long..." Hugh glanced at the Eddington steward. "About, what, two days?"

Noting the steward's confirming nod, the physician offered his opinion. "That's not so surprising, then, my lord. The stains don't tend to show clearly for a week or two after death. Most of the time the poisoning victim has been buried by then, and so the crime isn't discovered until at least a year or more has passed, when the body is exhumed for relocation of the bones to an ossuary." He waved a hand at Gilrae's preserved body, giving the coroner a wry smile. "Only by that time, one usually doesn't require a close look at the staining to realize _something_ unnatural has stopped the decomposition process. Though granted, the staining helps to confirm that one is almost certainly looking at a murder victim and not at proof that the recently deceased is a candidate for canonization."

The Earl chuckled. "Well, I can attest to the fact that Gilrae, bless the man, was certainly not _that_ saintly! So, it's certain that he was murdered, then?"

Sir Hugh waggled his hand. "It's certain he ingested mortweed; at this point, though, we've not established how that happened. He could have been murdered, or I suppose there's the possibility he was despondent enough over his failing health to seek out his death early. I rather doubt that, but the possibility exists, so I can't absolutely rule it out yet. It's less likely to be an accident—that is to say, even if it _was_ an accident that he ate or drank it, it was almost certainly no accident on the part of whoever supplied it to him, though _he_ may well have been unaware of what he was taking in. It's safe to say Sir Gilrae didn't die a natural death, though. And it's come to my attention during my questioning of the witnesses that Lady Ædwige was trying to hide what might be evidence related to her husband's death on the same morning when she attacked the Schola magistra and Bishop McLain and his party." He glanced at the Eddington steward. "Where are those items the Lady Ædwige was caught trying to bury?"

"Here, my lord." Martin Steward brought forward the basket that the young widow had tried to bury along with Sister Helena, laying it at his deceased master's feet. He turned scarlet as he faced the Earl. "May God and your lordship have mercy upon me; I think I might have helped my lady dig the hole she tried to dispose of these in. I don't have a clear memory of that, though the lady Healer told me my mind was not my own for a while that morning and that Lady Ædwige used some sort of Deryni compulsion against me."

The Earl nodded. "Yes, so I've been told by both Sister Helena and Bishop Duncan, who have both assured me that you are not to blame for your part in what happened five days ago, just as Armsman Eanrigh won't be held accountable for the injuries he inflicted on the bishop for the same reason. You needn't fear punishment for actions which were beyond your ability to control, Martin. If the Lady Ædwige took control of your mind—and I've already been given enough reason to satisfy me that she had—then you are no more at fault for her misuse of you than a piece of flint or steel is at fault for being misused at the hands of an arsonist. Though I _may_ still need to call you up in Court to account for your actions publicly despite having heard enough already to be personally satisfied of your innocence, so that others who know the full facts of the case may come forward to formally clear you." He hesitated slightly before asking, "And you've felt no lasting effect since that morning?"

"No, my lord," Martin Steward answered. "Bishop McLain did a very careful reading of my mind once he felt well enough to do so, and he says I've naught to worry about—no damage or lasting effects, that is—for which God be praised. It frightens me to think of what that... what Lady Ædwige _might_ have done with me, if she'd wished, and I'd have been powerless to stop her or even to know what she was doing." The retainer shuddered.

The Earl's lips tightened. "Yes, you were quite fortunate." He turned to his coroner. "And what did your examination of Lady Ædwige's belongings turn up?" He waved a hand toward the basket sitting at the foot of Sir Gilrae's coffin.

"Mortweed stains, my lord. We can show you how we detected them, if you'd like."

At the Earl's curious nod, Sir Hugh turned to Master Edmund, who stepped forward, lifting a crumpled wool tunic out of the basket with a gloved hand and inspecting it for stains. Spotting one, he called on one of the household servants to bring him a bowl of water and a scrap of white linen. While the man scurried off to fetch these items, he carefully inspected the basket's other contents, lifting up a cylinder of green glass which appeared to have once been a section of a bottle's neck. This he set to one side.

The physician poured a small amount of the water onto the stained cloth then tore the scrap of linen into two strips, dabbing at the wet spot with one strip of the white linen. At first, the only change to the linen was the slightly darker damp spot anyone might expect to see from freshly moistened white fabric, but as Master Edmund held the swatch close to a candle's flame to hasten the drying process, a faint rusty stain began to appear. "Do you see the stain beginning to form, my lord? Heat hastens the process." He fished in his pouch, drawing out two similar scraps of linen wrapped inside a larger remnant of wool, both with a much darker rusty stain. "These were the original test samples I took yesterday. You'll notice the stain is much darker on these; I allowed them to dry by my chamber hearth overnight."

"Hm. Interesting." The Earl started to reach for them for a closer examination, but hesitated. "Are they safe for me to touch?"

"They're fully dry now, so they ought to be, but all the same, since you're not gloved, I'd much rather you didn't. It's better to be overly careful than not careful enough when it comes to mortweed poison, especially at this concentration." The physician gave him a wry smile, picking up the other strip of linen, dampening it in the water and then carefully threading it through the cylinder of broken glass, wiping the inside surfaces with it before holding that swatch of fabric close to the flame as well. This swatch took a bit longer to dry out, but once it did, it too was stained with the same faint rusty tinge that had appeared on the first strip. "Again, if we were to leave this to dry overnight by the hearth, it would turn nearly as dark as my first sample, although possibly less stained because this is the second time I've wiped inside the neck of this bottle."

"Oh, is _that_ what that is?" Sir Hugh asked him, indicating the cylinder of glass. "So that came from the bottle the mortweed poison was contained in?"

"Yes and no," Master Edmund confirmed. "It's not from the original poison bottle, yet mortweed was most definitely contained in it."

"What Edmund means," Sir Hugh clarified, "is that this was the neck to what was once Sir Gilrae's heart cordial bottle, to which mortweed had been added. Sister Helena told us during yesterday's inquest that she had originally supplied Lady Ædwige with two bottles at the Lady's request last winter—a refill of the heart cordial, which Sir Gilrae was in the habit of ordering from a Rhemuth apothecary in Market Square, and also a bottle of rat poison. Sister Helena told me that the rat poison the apothecary had on hand was an infusion of mortweed, and that it was originally in a black bottle with a red cork. No one has seen this second bottle yet, although the household is currently searching the manor and grounds for it. According to Mistress Nell, as soon as Sister Helena's package arrived from Rhemuth, Lady Ædwige retired to her chamber to open it, and soon after that she remembers seeing the green bottle of heart cordial in Sir Gilrae's medicinals cabinet, but she doesn't recall ever seeing a black bottle such as the one described by Sister Helena." Sir Hugh raised a skeptical eyebrow. "And it might interest you to know that while Lady Ædwige claimed in a letter to her former Schola magistri last February that she needed the rat poison for a rodent problem here at Eddington Manor, I questioned Mistress Nell and several of the chambermaids and the cook about this alleged infestation, and they're all agreed that there has been very little problem with keeping the mice and rats at bay here on the manor grounds. They see one now and again, but the cats and hounds keep their numbers down well enough without the need for mortweed or other poisons."

The Earl nodded. "And in any case, whether there was ever a need for the mortweed as a rat poison or not, there's no way it could have ended up in the heart cordial by accident. Is that the only bottle of the cordial that Sir Gilrae had on the premises since February?"

Sir Hugh nodded. "Everyone seems to be in agreement on that point, yes. Which means the mortweed wasn't in the green bottle the whole time, since Sir Gilrae was seen to take his cordial on a regular basis with no ill effects for several months before his death."

The Earl of Danoc looked thoughtful. "So that argues for his death being a murder, doesn't it? Whoever added the mortweed to the cordial almost certainly knew what they were doing, and if that someone had been Sir Gilrae—if he'd grown despondent enough to seek to end his own life—surely the black bottle would have been found close at hand after his death, unless he added it to his cordial and then disposed of the original bottle before taking that final dose. That seems rather unlikely, but just on the off chance, did anyone mention what frame of mind Gilrae was in during those final days of his life?" He glanced at the Eddington steward. "Martin?"

The steward thought back to his late master's final week of life. "He seemed to be in good spirits, all things considered, m'lord. He knew his end was near, but he had reason to believe his lady might be breeding." The man blushed. "He was... ah... rather proud of that accomplishment. He told me he hoped he might be able to hang on long enough to see if he'd fathered an heir for Eddington or not. In fact, we rather thought he might be rallying. He still had the heart pains now and again, but he seemed to have some of his old energy back for a while." Martin shook his head. "And even if he'd been in low spirits, I can't imagine Sir Gilrae taking his own life. Not just to escape his final illness, at any rate. Perhaps a few years ago, after the Lady Delicia and his last hope of an heir from her died, he might have been tempted, but he never grew _that_ despairing, not even then."

"So then it seems to me that the more likely alternative we're faced with is that someone _else_ poured the mortweed into the cordial bottle—and not just anyone, but presumably the only person who even knew at the time that there was a bottle of mortweed on the premises—and that this person did so with the deliberate intent of causing grievous illness or death to Sir Gilrae?" The Earl gave the coroner a grim smile. "Does it seem that way to you as well, Sir Hugh?"

"I believe that's the most reasonable interpretation of the evidence, yes, my lord." The coroner waved a hand in the direction of the dirt-covered basket. "Especially in light of that person's attempt to subsequently hide all the evidence that might point towards her culpability." Indicating the stained woolen tunic, Sir Hugh added, "The Schola magistra says that these stains were caused by Lady's Ædwige's attempts to wipe up the remaining poisoned cordial from the floor of her late husband's bedchamber five days ago, after her kitten knocked the bottle off a high table and it shattered. The lady was most insistent on cleaning up the mess herself."

"Yes, I was wondering how Gilrae's tunic came to have such a large mortweed stain." He turned an inquiring look at his physician. "I hate to ask, Edmund, but is there _any_ possibility that the tunic might have acquired such stains from some more benign substance? Surely there are other liquids capable of producing a rusty looking stain on white fabric?"

The physician nodded. "I can think of several, in fact, although in this particular case I think we can rule out other causes. For one thing, if in fact this tunic was used to mop up the last of Gilrae's cordial, the unadulterated cordial ought to have left a pale greenish stain, not a rusty one. But there's one final bit of evidence that Sir Hugh hasn't brought up yet." He glanced at the coroner, who smiled and beckoned towards a manservant standing in the doorway. The man stepped forward, opening a small wooden carrier with a woven lid to reveal its contents.

"This is the kitten that spilled the mortweed-laced cordial, poor little creature. You'll note that despite having died nearly a week ago, he shows no sign of decay yet." The coroner pried open the tiny lips to reveal gums and the tip of a tongue that were beginning to show the first faint signs of a rusty tinge. "He died of mortweed poisoning, my lord, and afterwards the Lady Ædwige used Sir Gilrae's old tunic to dispose of the broken bottle and mop up the last of the poisoned cordial. And afterward it is _alleged_ that she tried to bury this evidence as well as the one witness—Sister Helena—who had uncovered the truth about her husband's death, and also that she tried to murder others who came to the magistra's rescue, and that her reason for her actions _appears_ to have been an attempt to cover up the truth about how her husband died. Of course, that's _your_ case to hear and not mine, my lord; I can only attest to the fact that Sir Gilrae's death was definitely not a result of natural causes and, in my opinion, even though I can't state it with _absolute_ certainty, it appears to be the result of a homicide."

A knock sounded at the door, and the manservant who had brought forward Boots's body went to answer it. A moment later, he turned to face the Earl, his face lighting with excitement. "M'lord, one of the chambermaids has turned up something y'might find of interest t' th' case!" At the Earl's inquiring look and nod, he opened the door further, allowing in a shy young maid who bobbed a low curtsey and offered up a small black bottle with a red stopper for inspection.

"Is this th' bottle ye were askin' after, Sir Hugh?" the girl asked.

"It certainly appears to be!" the coroner affirmed. "Well done... Maggie, isn't it?" He took the bottle from her shaking hand. "Don't be frightened, lass. Can you tell us where you found it? Speak up plainly so we can all hear."

"Aye, m'lord, it were in M'Lady's chamber. 'Er _old_ chamber, I mean t' say. Lady Ædwige's. 'Erself had it hid away between 'er feather mattresses. I did what ye said an' didn't open it, but I shook it just a bit, an' it seems t' be near empty." She bit her lip. "I hope tha' was a' right?"

"Quite all right, Maggie," the Earl answered in the coroner's stead. "We may have more questions for you later, but for the moment, you may return to your duties." He dismissed the manservant as well, waiting until the door closed behind both before handing the bottle off to his physician. "Master Edmund, would you test the contents of this second bottle?"

The physician reached for the black bottle, carefully uncorking it with a gloved hand and then waving his hand towards himself over the open neck, cautiously sniffing at the faint fumes wafting from it. He recoiled with a grimace, looking back up at the Earl. "I'll do the same test on this that I did with the others once I get some fresh scraps of white linen, but I can already tell you that I can detect the smell of mortweed, and a _very_ high concentration of it at that." Peering inside the small opening, he added, "If this bottle was full when it arrived in Eddington, then judging by what's left inside, if the remainder _all_ went into Sir Gilrae's cordial, that would be enough to drop several horses in less than a minute, I should think, let alone one frail man."

The Earl of Danoc nodded, smiling grimly and turning his attention back to the coroner.

"So, is it your recommendation that I add murder to the list of charges to be brought against the Lady Ædwige of Eddington Manor this day?" the Earl of Danoc asked.

Sir Hugh and Master Edmund exchanged glances, shared agreement in their eyes. The coroner nodded. "It is now, my lord."

#

Martin Steward waited until after the midday meal, while the household was still fully assembled in the Hall, to announce that the Earl of Danoc's Court would be convening within the hour at the Earl's command. The household rushed to set the Hall back into proper order, whisking away the used trenchers, goblets, and table linens to the pantry and cupboards, and returning the table boards and trestles to their customary storage places at the rear of the Hall. The benches were neatly lined on either side of the Hall, affording all a clear view of their Earl and his seat on the raised dais where until recently their master and his new bride had been accustomed to dine.

While these preparations were taking place, the Earl withdrew into the small chamber where Sir Gilrae's body lay, seeking a moment's quiet to ready himself for the trial ahead. After his meeting with Sir Hugh and Master Edmund earlier that morning, he had allowed Martin Steward and another of the Eddington men to reseal the coffin, and now he leaned against it and bowed his head in a brief prayer for his old friend's eternal repose.

Bishop Duncan entered the room and, upon seeing the Earl thus occupied, stopped just inside the doorway, maintaining a respectful silence until Danoc looked back up again. The Earl, noticing his arrival, gave Duncan a fleeting smile.

"It's good to see you up and around, Father Duncan," Danoc said, allowing himself the momentary informality since they were in private and, while they were not close friends, the two had become fairly well acquainted during their years of service at King Brion's Court and now his son's, and also in the two wars which had troubled the earlier years of young Kelson's reign. He looked back down at Sir Gilrae's coffin with a slight frown. "Gil _is_ at peace now, isn't he, Father? I mean... his soul's in Heaven now, I hope, and not... still trapped like this?" The Earl waved his hand toward his friend's coffin, his eyes haunted.

Duncan gave him a reassuring smile, shaking his head. "He's not there anymore, Aubrey. Death from mortweed is like any other death in that regard, and while there are more arcane ways to trap a soul within a man's body, I took the liberty earlier of checking for any signs of that, and there were none. Whatever else might have been done to Sir Gilrae, at least he never had to deal with _that_ horror."

The Earl shuddered. "God be thanked, then."

There was a sudden stir of excitement, some unexpected arrival by the sound of things, coming from the nearby Hall. Both men turned towards the connecting doorway as it opened, a wide-eyed manservant stepping inside to make a flustered bow in their direction. His uncertain gaze flitted between them as if trying to decide which man ought to be addressed first, but he settled the matter by lowering his eyes and stammering, "My lords, there is a messenger from the Crown who says he has urgent business to bring before my lord Earl." With a quick glance up at Duncan, he added, "And he's also inquiring after _your_ health, Bishop McLain."

"Show him in," the Earl of Danoc said.

The young man exited, returning almost immediately with another, this taller man favoring them with a wry smile as he greeted them. "Good morning, Aubrey, or perhaps I should say good afternoon instead?" Arching a blond eyebrow at the bishop, he added, " _You've_ looked better, although I'm glad you look no worse." Despite his mild tone, Duncan could sense taut anger beneath the words, though he knew the anger was not directed at him.

"Your Grace!" Danoc exclaimed with a surprised grin. He glanced at Duncan, then back at the unexpected arrival. "I should have known the King would call for you once word got back to him of your cousin's injury." He gave the manservant a discreet gesture of dismissal; the younger man, his eyes growing even wider with the revelation of this new visitor's rank, nearly tripped over his own feet in his haste to comply.

The bishop chuckled. "Traveling incognito, Alaric? Or have you been on such bad behavior in my absence that Kelson's had to demote you to royal messenger?"

"I told you having to sit at that damned High Table would get me into trouble someday!" Morgan pretended to grouse, finding a seat on a nearby bench and loosening the ties of his gorget. "No, I just figured I wouldn't make myself a target for every brigand between Rhemuth and Eddington by wearing ducal regalia, and once we arrived and found yon quivering pup practically shivering in his boots at the thought of receiving an envoy from the King's Court, I thought it best not to mention who I am." He grinned at Duncan and the Earl as he removed the gorget and began to unlace leather vambraces. "That's not the Eddington steward, is it?"

Duncan laughed. "No, just one of the junior manservants. I don't think he was expecting to have a Bishop and an Earl both land on his doorstep this week, much less a Duke of the realm. He's probably scurrying off to the kitchens with news of your arrival even now and putting poor Cook in a dither."

Alaric shook his head good-naturedly, rising from his seat. "I'll have Derry head the lad off before he puts the entire manorial household in a panic. We don't intend to impose, at least not for more than one night's stay." He gave his cousin a brief head to toe visual examination. "How recovered are you? Are you up to a trip back to Rhemuth tomorrow if we procure a coach for the journey?"

Duncan snorted. "No, but I'd be up for it mounted on a horse. I'm not _that_ infirm!"

The Earl of Danoc gave a preoccupied frown as the Duke opened the door he'd come through earlier, although he waited until Morgan had finished his quiet conference with the Earl of Derry before broaching his concern. "Your Grace, I shall need to hear Bishop McLain's testimony regarding the Lady Ædwige as well as Sister Helena's in order to try the cases against her, although I suppose I can hear their accounts first if they are required back in Rhemuth right away."

"Ah yes, about that." Alaric resumed his place by the hearth. "Sorry, Aubrey; I meant to get around to the subject sooner. His Majesty has taken a special interest in the matter of Lady Ædwige's attempt on Bishop McLain's and Sister Helena's lives, and he intends to hear that case himself, although he is willing that you should hear the case against her regarding whatever involvement she might have had in Sir Gilrae's death. Given that you might need more of the Eddington household to testify in that matter, it would make sense to go ahead and try that case here, as I understand you are already planning on doing this afternoon." With a tilt of his head toward Duncan, he added, "But something about the near deaths of his Schola rector and a magistra seems to have left Kelson a bit... irked. Although he extends his invitation to you as well, since it would seem that the first case has a direct bearing on the second, and he would be interested in hearing your thoughts on the matter once the Lady's guilt or innocence in the matter of her husband's death has been established."

"I shall gladly defer the second case to His Majesty, if he'd prefer to hear it. God only knows _I_ wasn't at all eager to have it land in my lap."

Another tap sounded at the door, and this time it was the Eddington steward who poked his head in at the Earl's invitation. "My lord Earl, the Hall has been prepared for your use," Martin Steward informed him, "but now the question has come up of how the prisoner is to be brought out of her confinement safely without risk to others present."

"I'll see to that," Morgan assured him.

The steward turned to face him, silent inquiry in his eyes. Duncan stepped forward to make the introduction. "Alaric, _this_ is the Eddington steward, Martin. Martin, the Duke of Corwyn will make the necessary arrangements."

A momentary look of surprise flitted over hastily composed features. "Very well, my lords." He swept Morgan a deferential bow. "Your Grace."

#

Ædwige blinked as sunlight streamed in through the open door of the Eddington mausoleum. The last of the tomb's torches had burned down to its sconce a few days earlier—or perhaps it had been night, she wasn't sure—and she'd had to rely on her own handfire for illumination since then, but its pale light was a feeble substitute for the sun's warming glow. Meals had been brought to her at regular intervals over that same period, and she had hoped at first to make her escape during those moments when the doors opened briefly, but the first time she'd tried, she had collided with the wall of a strong ward which flared as her body made contact with it, singeing her painfully. A gloved hand—Sister Helena's, she had thought, from her brief glimpse of it—had come through the wall of energy to deposit the trencher of bread and a flask of water onto the floor just inside the tomb's entrance, and then the doors had been closed and locked again. A second such visit brought the Bishop rather than the magistra, but the same shimmering light outside the tomb warned Ædwige that to try to escape her imprisonment in the same way she'd tried the first time would be equally futile. Better to wait them out, then. Obviously the ward they'd set up was attuned to the two Deryni holding her captive and would not allow her through it, but eventually they'd have to dismantle the ward in order to bring her to trial, for surely they didn't mean to bring the trial to _her_ , confined as she was in that small tomb? And if they tried her without giving her the chance to speak for her own actions... well, surely she could appeal _that_ as a miscarriage of justice, could she not?

And now they'd come for her at last, and the open door was unwarded, or appeared to be so at any rate, for no tell-tale azure glow filled the exit to the tomb. Ædwige felt instinctively for her belt knife before remember it wasn't there—no, they'd taken that from her before locking her away, along with her veil pins and anything else a woman might normally find of use as a weapon. But they couldn't take away her powers, so perhaps she still had a chance to escape the travesty of a trial that lay before her. She knew better than to trust in the Earl's justice; he was a man, and what's more, had been Gilrae's friend. He'd not have any sympathy for her plight, would not understand that what she'd done had been no more than the reasonable course of action any young woman in deplorable circumstance might have taken to free herself of such an odious creature as her late husband had been. And in truth, killing him had been the merciful and right thing to do, she was sure of it.

But men... men were so unreasonable about such things, weren't they? Father Nivard had proven that, hadn't he, with his admonitions to turn herself in, to put her mortal life in peril to ensure the safety of her soul?

To hell with Nivard and his kind! _She_ had better things to do than follow stupid, useless rules and die young. Or if she could not escape the circumstances she found herself in now, the least she could do was take as many of the judgmental bastards with her as she could before they finally struck her down.

Eyes blazing with self-righteous fury, Ædwige stepped into the sunlight, only to stop short. Eight archers stood in a semicircle before her, just out of range of her ability to strike them down easily with a blast of concentrated power—not that summoning up the proper focus would be at all easy with those eight sets of eyes all sighting down an arrow at her!—and in the midst of the lot stood the Duke of Corwyn, apparently unarmed and utterly at ease, although she suspected the formidable Deryni lord was far more alert and on guard than he appeared. His gray eyes blazed back at her as he faced her down, as if he were the Archangel Uriel himself come to collect her soul.

"It's time to face your accusers, Lady Ædwige," he said.


	32. Part II--Chapter 23

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

 _Eddington Manor  
November 10, 1136—afternoon_

Ædwige glared balefully at her judge from behind the shimmering wards that enclosed her. She had not been warded at first—when she'd been brought into the Hall for trial, the Duke of Corwyn had relied primarily on his archers and his own veiled threats to assure her meek compliance during the proceedings. But how _dared_ these imbeciles presume to stand in judgment against her? As if none of _them_ had ever had to kill someone before to get a job done! That Morgan in particular could hardly be held guiltless of that, yet there he stood as if he had a perfect right to look down at her for her deeds. She'd show him some day! She'd…she'd marry Sivney, that's what she'd do, and once she had the Queen's ear as her stepsister-in-law, she'd have a thing or two to say about Alaric Morgan!

Was it _her_ fault she'd nearly caught the roof ablaze in her fury when that damned chambermaid stepped forward to tell how she'd found the bottle of mortweed beneath her mistress's mattress? She'd sack the ungrateful wench, that's what she'd do! She really ought to slit the little ingrate's throat, but that would hardly help her case, she supposed.

The maidservant had shrieked when the first sparks began to shower down from the thatched roof, and Ædwige had hoped she might be able to slip out of the Hall during the ensuing confusion, but instead the Bishop had caught up with her, smacking her unceremoniously upside the head with one balled fist and temporarily knocking her out. Once Ædwige had recovered from her dazed state, she'd found herself warded again, the Bishop peering in at her with a look on his face that was an odd mixture of satisfaction and…was it pity? How dared he look at her that way! And to strike a lady down…how could he consider himself a man of God, with such unchivalrous behavior? She'd never dreamed a mere churchman could wield such a mean punch; it simply wasn't natural. And she'd not even had the satisfaction of seeing Eddington Manor burn to the ground, although the entire lot of Gilrae sympathizers deserved it, because someone—probably that meddlesome Duke again—had managed to stop the fire from spreading. She was really beginning to loathe the man. Maybe it was a good thing she'd decided to break things off with his stepson Brendan.

She hated them all. All she'd ever wanted was to be left alone to finish her studies, so that with the combination of her beauty, her Deryni talents, and an advantageous marriage to some rising star in the King's Court, she could finally find her proper place in the world. Was it so much to ask, not to be stuck away here in this backwater manor, in some minor Earldom, her youth and beauty wasted on some mere old knight with no prospects of bettering himself and his station, and worst of all, her training cut off just when she was on the verge of discovering her full power?

They didn't understand. But they _must_.

At last the Earl of Danoc allowed her a chance to account for her own actions.

#

"What say you, Lady Ædwige, to the charges brought against you today?"

Ædwige stood proudly as she faced the Earl who was seated at her rightful place upon the dais of Eddington Hall. She briefly considered telling her liegelord that the witnesses against her all lied, that the chambermaid had found the remaining poison hidden under her mattress because the scheming little wench had put it there herself, doubtless after poisoning the master of the household for her own nefarious ends—probably knowing that if she did, Lady Ædwige would return to her studies forthwith, and there'd be less work to do around the manor with a dead master and an absent mistress. The story might well convince her judge in other circumstances, and Ædwige was sorely tempted, yet the presence of three Deryni in the Hall stopped her mouth. _They_ would know she lied, if she told such a tale outright, and they would tell the Earl of Danoc that she had failed to pass their Truth-Reading. But how did the Earl feel about the use of Deryni powers? She didn't know. He certainly didn't seem to object to Deryni wards being used to confine her, though under the circumstances, perhaps he'd only grudgingly permitted it.

Maybe she could plant doubts in some more roundabout way, though.

"My lord Earl," she murmured, her eyes downcast, "I hardly know what to say in my own defense. I fear you have already judged me in your mind and found me wanting. What reason would I have for wishing my lord dead? You say a bottle of poison was found within my chamber, and this may well be true. I have only a chambermaid's word for it, though, and even if someone _did_ find such a thing hidden between my mattresses, who is to say how it came there in the first place?" She allowed a tear to course down one cheek. "I know the household was most loyal to my late lord, and that I have had scant time to win their heart. Indeed, they don't seem to have warmed to me much at all during my brief time as Lady of Eddington. Perhaps they thought me too harsh a mistress?" She blinked rapidly, as if to dispel further tears. "I own perhaps I have too sharp a tongue at times, but I was simply trying to establish myself as mistress of my new household, and mayhap was too clumsy in my efforts..." She sniffed. "A youthful folly, I fear, but I was not prepared to wed yet and had but little training in how to govern a household."

She risked a glimpse at the faces surrounding her. A few appeared to be swayed toward pity, though not nearly as many as she'd hoped. Dared she try to add more subtle means of persuasion to her efforts? Such arts wouldn't work on the Deryni in her presence, alas, but if she could sway enough of her household to her side, or even if she could only manage to convince the Earl, she might still be able to convince the Court that they were being too hasty in their judgment of her.

The Earl, however, raised a skeptical eyebrow at her before she could continue on. "So, you are claiming then that you had no knowledge of how the bottle of mortweed infusion came to be in your chamber, and that someone else—perhaps young Maggie—planted it there to implicate you in Sir Gilrae's death? If that were the case, then why did you take such pains to hide any evidence that the mortweed poison was mixed in with Gilrae's cordial?"

Ædwige gave him a wary look, unsure of where his question was leading or exactly how much incriminating evidence against her the Earl might have uncovered during the days when she had been locked away in her husband's tomb. "Evidence, my lord?"

"Yes. I refer to Gilrae's old tunic that you used to clean up the cordial that spilled in your late husband's chamber, and to the broken shards of glass from the cordial bottle itself. Even assuming someone else hid the original bottle of poison—a supposition I find myself unconvinced of—why did you take such pains not only to clean up the spill yourself, but also to dispose of all of these items by burying them in the woods under the cover of night, rather than simply calling for one of your servants to sweep it up and bring it to the rubbish heap?" The Earl of Danoc snorted. "Clearly you were fully aware of what that cordial bottle really contained, and you didn't wish for anyone else to discover what you knew. And for the moment we'll lay completely aside the question of what else—or perhaps I should say _who_ else—you had planned to bury along with the evidence that Gilrae's cordial had been tampered with. Though I _must_ ask, just how _were_ you planning on explaining away burying your house guest alive?"

Ædwige felt slightly faint. "No, you don't understand, my lord! That wasn't..." She glanced wildly around the Hall. "That was Martin, my steward! _He_ buried Sister Helena!"

The Earl leaned forward in his chair slightly, putting her in mind of a eagle about to stoop to its prey. "Did he now? And why would he do that?"

"Because..." Her mind grasped at the first plausible explanation she could conjure up. "Because he'd discovered Sister Helena robbing Lady Catherine's coffin, and they fought! She was bested in the struggle, and he believed her dead and decided to dispose of her body. And he... _He_ must have been the one to poison Gilrae as well, which is why he buried the... the other things with her!"

A loud cry of protest sounded behind her—Martin's voice, from the sound of it—nearly drowned out by an equally loud hubbub of other voices—but the Earl held up a hand to silence them. "I see, Lady Ædwige. Are you certain he didn't bury Sister Helena along with the other items in question because you had control over his mind and were directing him to? Or how _do_ you explain your own presence at the magistra's makeshift grave that morning? Not to mention the attack on the Bishop and his men-at-arms at daybreak. Did Martin Steward engineer that as well? Tell me, Lady Ædwige, how does a mere human call up Deryni-like powers at a moment's notice like that, only to lose them again later in the day? _You're_ formally educated in the Deryni arts; is that even possible?" He turned a wry smile towards Duncan. "I'm sure that your Schola's Rector will correct me if I'm wrong, but I highly suspect that none of the events that occurred on the fifth morning of November were initiated by Martin Steward, and most especially not the fiery blast which incapacitated Otho of Leviston nor the takeover of Eanrigh d'Alençon's mind and sword hand to inflict grievous injury upon Bishop Duncan McLain. Could Martin Steward have committed either of those acts, Bishop McLain?"

Duncan shook his head. "As you've correctly surmised, my lord Earl, he could not have. While there _are_ some humans who have the ability to acquire Deryni-like powers, these do not simply manifest spontaneously and disappear just as suddenly. Martin's hands might have dug that grave and placed Sister Helena in it, but I assure you that his own mind was not in control of his body at the time."

Ædwige glared at the man through the energies of the ward separating them, trying to think, but it was of little use. The growing murmurs of the crowd around her were too distracting, and she couldn't think of an adequate defense. She opened her mouth to try again anyhow, but before she could think of anything else to add, the Earl spoke once more.

"At any rate, the events of five days ago have little bearing on the question before us now—of whether or not Lady Ædwige did willfully and knowingly cause Sir Gilrae's death from mortweed poisoning—except in that those events appear to have occurred in a futile attempt to hide one crime by committing others. The testimony of those affected by those events will be heard in due time. I am only here today to judge in the matter of Sir Gilrae's death."

Ædwige frowned, puzzled. What _was_ the idiot leading up to? Her temples began to pound, and she rubbed at her aching head in growing frustration.

"On the count of murder of her husband Sir Gilrae of Eddington, I find the defendant guilty. However, the King has expressed an interest in hearing the case against Lady Ædwige brought forward by Bishop McLain and Sister Helena ferch Ednyved; therefore, sentencing will be deferred until His Majesty has weighed in on that matter."

What? Ædwige felt the blood drain from her face, had to fight off a sudden wave of faintness.

"Lady Ædwige, you will be taken to Rhemuth Keep, there to await trial on the other charges against you at the King's command. May God have mercy upon your soul."

She was hardly going to count on _that!_ "My Lord Earl," she cried out, "I plead my belly! I can't be tried and sentenced; I'm bearing the future Lord of Eddington!"

Danoc raised grizzled eyebrows at her outburst. "My dear young lady," he drawled, "of _course_ you can be tried and sentenced, whether you're bearing or not. You simply can't be executed." He smiled grimly. "Yet."

#

 _The City of Rhemuth—Market Square  
November 13, 1136_

The Duke of Corwyn's entourage entered the City of Rhemuth through the Rivergate and made its way through Market Square, heading south toward the road which would lead directly into Rhemuth Castle. As the party passed through the Square, Ædwige cast a wistful gaze towards the center of the City, wondering if she could break free of her armed escort in the thronging crowd and escape up the King's Way, or better yet, through the narrower back streets or alleys of the densely populated City, until she lost her pursuers. Even at this distance she could see the rooftops of the Cathedral of Saint George. If she could make it to that landmark in the city's center, she could get her bearings enough to escape the city through any one of several city gates, and could make her way to safety.

 _If_ she could make it that far. Or need she even try to leave Rhemuth at all? She had heard that it was possible, even for convicted felons, to escape execution for crimes committed if that felon could make it to consecrated ground and there claim the right of Sanctuary. What were the conditions attached to that, though? She knew there had to be _some_ , but she couldn't remember them at that moment. That had never seemed to be the sort of information she'd ever thought she'd need personally, after all. Sanctuary was for common felons, wasn't it, and not for people like _her_. But damn it all, why hadn't she listened properly when she'd heard people nattering on about it before? All she really needed was the chance to buy enough time for a message to reach her Papa. Papa wouldn't allow this travesty of a trial to happen to her. He'd figure out some way to smooth things over, and she'd go along with whatever he suggested, and be just as meek and mild and compliant as everyone insisted on young ladies being—damn their judgmental hides!—even if it meant marrying some nasty old codger again. If that happened, at least she'd know better the next time around than to use mortweed to encourage him to die sooner!

A mounted man at arms wearing the Corwyn livery drew closer alongside the coach she rode in, and Ædwige drew back from the coach's window. No, there was no hope of escape that way. With the Duke's men surrounding her completely, even if she could create some momentary distraction to draw the Earl of Derry's attention off her long enough for her to leap out of the moving coach and make a break for safety, she couldn't run faster than a party of mounted men. The crowds were thick in this part of the city, with common folk doing their daily shopping, yet they'd swiftly part to let armed soldiers through and might even side with them to stop a fugitive, although there was some chance that a heart or two might be moved by the sight of a lady in distress. But no, she couldn't count on something so capricious as the good will of strangers.

The coach and its guards continued on past Market Square, and Ædwige switched her attention to the small window on the other side of her enclosed space. The Castle loomed large in the near distance, the crenelations of the Keep towering overhead. That's where they meant to bring her, she had overheard, with various Deryni taking shifts to ensure she remained securely locked inside the stronghold until the King called her forth to be tried for her attempts on the magistra's and the bishop's lives. As if a lady didn't have a perfect right to defend herself when her life was at risk! And what _was_ Sister Helena anyway, for all her skill and training in the Deryni arts, but a jumped up commoner of mercantile birth? Why she'd ever thought she'd seen anything of merit in the woman, Ædwige had no notion. As for the Bishop... well, he _had_ been a Duke's son, and later had been a Duke himself, but then he'd tossed it all away, hadn't he? And for what? To sing Latin chants and grow calluses on his knees from too much praying? Ædwige snorted disdainfully at the thought. Was he even a man at all, or had someone else actually fathered the current Duke of Cassan?

One of the men-at-arms looked in at her with a grim smile, saying "We're nearing the Castle gates now, my lady." She started to retort that she could see that well enough for herself, but something in his blandly courteous manner stopped her, and she gave him a closer look. He was a young man, perhaps in his middle twenties, and fairly handsome. Not too dire, at any rate. Ædwige wondered if he might be bribed to look the other way once they reached the Castle, so she could slip past him to make her escape. Though bribed with what? She'd not been allowed to keep anything more valuable than the clothes she wore. But he was a man, and there were other inducements a woman might use to put a man in a more compliant and biddable frame of mind. Not at the Castle gatehouse, of course! But perhaps later, once things quieted down a bit, she might find some opportunity to ask the favor of him and offer him sufficient inducement to gain his cooperation. An exchange of favors, one might call it.

Still dreaming up scheme after scheme, Ædwige hardly noticed as the coach and its entourage entered the Castle gates.


	33. Part II--Chapter 24

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

 _Rhemuth Castle  
_ _November 15, 1136_

The Lady of Eddington was peeved. Her original plan to seduce the handsome Corwyn guard into allowing her escape had come to naught. When more subtle suggestions had appeared to go unnoticed, she'd resorted to a more blatant invitation, but to her surprise he seemed to find it more amusing than tempting. Annoyed by his reaction, she'd tried to resort to more arcane means of persuasion, only to find his mind well-shielded. Not that he was Deryni, but the Duke of Corwyn had evidently taken precautions against the King's prisoner tampering with the minds of her guards. _Any_ of them, whether Corwyn liegemen or Royal, as Ædwige soon discovered over the course of the next few hours.

And to add insult to injury, the guard had proved less than discreet, and now the knowing glances and smirks exchanged by the rest of the guardsmen fueled her embarrassment. One man had been so ungentlemanly as to suggest that the King might be merciful enough to send her to a nunnery instead of having her executed, if she was so eager to atone for her crimes as to offer herself up even before her sentencing. Ædwige was hardly so sheltered as to think for a moment he was referring to an actual convent. The nerve of the man!

But it was a maiden whose face now appeared in the small window of her locked and warded chamber door, and not just any maiden's, but one who was all too familiar to Ædwige. She spoke in a low voice to the guard, who looked hesitant to admit her at first, but at her display of cupped handfire he nodded and unlocked the door for her. Ædwige's visitor entered, cool blue eyes sweeping the dimly lit room until she spotted its occupant.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Ædwige asked, scowling.

"Bringing your supper, unless you don't want any," Cass replied. "It makes little difference to _me_ if you eat or not, but the King seems to think you ought to be kept alive long enough for him to decide if you should live or die. I'd hate to see him disappointed, especially on his birthday." Cass's gaze flitted towards the narrow window slit that let in what remained of the day's light. She set the trencher on the window's stone ledge, then untied a leather flask from her belt and deposited that onto it as well.

Ædwige glanced at the trencher, confused. "Where's my food? If it's the King's birthday, there's a feast being served in the Great Hall tonight, is there not?"

Cass smiled. "Oh, yes! It smells wonderful, too. I caught the scent of roasting meat in the air as I walked over here. Which reminds me, I suppose I'd better be getting back. Lady Briony is saving me a place at table, and I'd hate for her to think I shan't be back in time and offer it to someone else."

"But..." Ædwige fumed. Was the girl being deliberately obtuse? "Where's _my_ supper?"

Cass raised an ebony eyebrow at her as she tilted her head toward the window ledge. " _That's_ your supper. It's perfectly good bread, that trencher. If _you_ don't want it, I'm sure the poor will be glad to see a freshly baked trencher in the alms basket tonight, even if it hasn't been soaked through with savory sauces."

Ædwige barely resisted the urge to fling the leather flask at her insufferable visitor's head. "When does the King plan to try me?" she asked instead. "I hate it up here! This chamber's far too small, the bed is hard, the blanket itches, and the Keep is full of leering men."

"He's not going to call you into Court during his birthday festivities, I can assure you!" Cass retorted. "So I'd say you're safe for at least one more day. Though why you'd be in a hurry to be brought into Court, I have no idea. I should think you'd be glad for any delay." She looked around the small chamber. "And at least you've got an upper room with a window to let in light and fresh air, and no damp or mold. There _is_ a dungeon in this Keep, don't forget, and should you desire a change of accommodation, I'm certain His Majesty would be quite happy to oblige you. And you needn't fear the Royal Guard; they're too well disciplined to harm a prisoner, though they might find a bit of sport in teasing you. That stunt you pulled against the Bishop's men-at-arms didn't exactly endear you to them, you know. Then again, you've never been an especially endearing sort, have you?"

Ædwige unstopped the flask, finding it full of water rather than wine. This time she gave in to her urge to fling it towards Cass's head, but the maiden was already walking out the door. The guard swiftly locked it again before it could occur to Ædwige to try to follow her.

#

 _Rhemuth Castle  
November 17, 1136_

Ædwige held her father's letter up so she could read it more clearly in the light streaming in through her tiny window.

 _"... I cannot understand your actions, much less give His Majesty an answer for them or account for your motivations. I have been both father and mother to you, have always tried to give you everything you've ever wanted, and did my best to see you never lacked for anything, and for what? I gave you the best of men for a husband, one whom I knew would dote on you as I did, and yet you would not be content. Yes, I knew you felt unready to be a wife yet, but I'd hoped in wedding you to Gilrae that you'd learn to be governed, and once he passed on to his heavenly reward, I believed you would be well enough provided for to make your own choice of husband in due time. But oh, Ædwige, the one thing I could never give to you was patience. Even if you were so unhappy as to long for your freedom, could you not have simply waited one more year or two for it? And then to hear that you have compounded your rash act with further evils... I cannot fathom what you have become. You are not the sweet young maiden I once loved._

 _"I do not know what possessed you to think that I might be able to extricate you from the consequences of your foul deeds. Even if I could do so, I would not. I am afraid there is nothing left for you now than to face the grave bravely that you have dug with your own hands and ready your soul to meet its Maker. Perhaps in doing so, you may redeem what little may be left of your honor. I wash my hands of you, child. I have no daughter anymore; whatever fate the King might decide for you, you are dead to me as of this moment. May God have mercy upon your soul. Father Lars includes you in his prayers daily."_

The lady's eyes hardened as she crumpled up the message and incinerated it. Fine, let the overly-scrupulous bastard rot, then! If Papa would be of no use, she'd find some other way to get out of the bind she was in, and then she'd move somewhere where the right sort of folk would appreciate her. Bremagne, maybe. It was said to be a warm and pleasant kingdom, and there was no disputing the fact that their gowns were far more fashionable. Yes, perhaps it was time to consider a move to Bremagne.

Allowing herself to be lulled by the fantasy of handsome Bremagni courtiers gathered around her, captivated by her charms and plying her with compliments in their sultry accents, she failed to notice the sound of footsteps approaching her chamber until a key turned in the warded lock and the door opened.

#

"Lady Ædwige, your presence is requested and required by King Kelson, Sovereign of Gwynedd." The young man standing before her stood stiffly formal, no trace of his former warmth towards her lingering in his eyes as he gazed at her. They might as well have been strangers. Nor did the young woman standing behind him look any more approachable, although her gray-blue eyes held a lingering sadness as she studied Ædwige.

She dipped into a polite curtsey. "Lord Sivney... Lady Briony..." As she rose, she noticed a third person behind them both. Her lips tightened slightly, although she dipped once again. "And Your Grace." She gave a brittle laugh as she met Morgan's gaze. "Three Deryni to fetch one lone woman? Isn't that overkill?"

Alaric Morgan gave her a grim smile. "I think not, my lady. Don't forget I've seen your recent handiwork." He bound the lady's wrists with a silken cord that was stronger than it appeared, muttering a quick spell above the knotwork securing it around her bound hands before glancing back up at her face. "There, that ought to keep you well behaved along the way."

The three escorted her down the stairs of the castle keep, Sivney and Briony to either side of her and Alaric following close behind, keeping a close watch on the prisoner's every movement. The men-at-arms guarding the outer doors stepped back to let them out into the upper bailey. Ædwige stopped short just outside the doorway, blinking at the unaccustomed brightness of the sunlight streaming down upon her. Her Deryni escort waited a few moments to allow her eyes to adjust.

The Great Hall loomed to one side of the courtyard they stood in, the Lesser Hall flanking the other side of it, next to the castle's outer wall, and across the cobbled expanse, beyond both Halls, was the northern wing of the Royal residence containing the Royal Chapel. Lord Sivney began to steer Ædwige towards the front steps of the Great Hall, but she stopped suddenly, gazing up at him with a pleading look. "Please, Sivney, can't I stop by the Chapel first? I need to make my confession." Tears welled up in her eyes.

A corner of his lips quirked. "I imagine you do, my lady, but surely that can wait until after your trial."

Ædwige allowed the tears to spill over. "Oh please, Sivney! I know you must hate me after... after all you've heard and believe of me... but..." She lowered her voice slightly, although not quite enough to prevent her other two escorts from overhearing what she added next. "Sivney, please! After all the liberties you sweet-talked me into, I daren't face my death unshriven!" A becoming blush tinted her cheeks.

Briony gave Sivney an involuntary startled glance, then lowered her eyes demurely, struggling to regain her aplomb. The young man's face flamed with mortification, and he risked a quick glance at the Duke, who raised an eyebrow by the merest fraction and answered in the nonplussed young lord's stead.

"After murder and attempted murder, I should think a twinge of conscience over a dalliance would be the least of your worries, Lady Ædwige," Alaric said smoothly, "but I'm certain Kelson will allow you ample opportunity to repent of your sins after he's heard your case and pronounced sentence."

"Perhaps..." Sivney cleared his throat and started over. "Maybe we _should_ let her be shriven first." He swallowed hard, looking self-conscious as he did his best to meet the Duke of Corwyn's questioning gaze. "It wouldn't take very long, would it? And Briony could go on ahead and let the Crown know the reason for our delay."

The maiden's golden eyebrows arched as she speared Sivney with an incredulous look. "And what shall I tell them, that the prisoner will be arriving later than expected because you've both had a sudden attack of conscience over your inability to keep your clothes on?"

The young man looked stricken, his face going a deeper shade of crimson. "Oh Jesú, you needn't tell them _that_! I just thought... Surely Kelson wouldn't deny her the right to seek absolution?"

Alaric's gray eyes studied them both before glancing at Ædwige, who stood before them, eyes still downcast, her features shadowed with fear. He sighed. "Damn it, Sivney, the next time you're in rut, do you think you can manage to avoid diddling with a felon!" At his daughter's aghast look, he gave her an apologetic half-smile and added, "Sorry, poppet." He shook his head. "All right, then, I'll inform Kelson of the reason for the delay. He wasn't planning on convening the Court just yet anyway; I just offered to collect the prisoner a bit early in case she decided to take the opportunity to create some unexpected mischief. I suppose she can sit and stew just as well in the Chapel Royal as she could in some antechamber." He caught the prisoner's eye with a knowing look. "But make no mistake, Lady Ædwige, I'm not granting your request for the sake of _your_ conscience, but for the sake of Lord Sivney's." He gave the younger man a meaningful look. "And _you_ might start to give careful consideration to looking for a wife sooner rather than later, if you're finding it difficult to govern your passions." He handed the loose end of the cord binding the prisoner's wrists into Sivney's keeping and left them, his long stride swiftly eating up the short distance between the Keep and the Great Hall.

#

"It's _you!_ " Ædwige stopped iust inside the doorway of the Chapel Royal as she stared at the Castle's chaplain, her expression a study in consternation. "What are _you_ doing here?"

Father Nivard, once he got over his momentary shock at seeing the Lady Ædwige appear unexpectedly before him, gave her a wry smile in acknowledgment both of what she was asking and what she'd left unspoken. "I'm the Royal Chaplain, my Lady. Surely you didn't think I spend all of my time in the Royal Library?"

"No, but..." She glanced at her Deryni escorts as if looking to them for answers to her plight.

Sivney, not knowing the reason for Ædwige's hesitation, simply gazed back at her questioningly, but Briony raised a golden eyebrow at her. "Can't quite bring yourself to confess your sins to a priest you wrongfully accused of misconduct?" At Ædwige's startled look, she added, "Oh yes, I eventually saw through that little tale you led me to believe, and so did everyone else who looked into the matter. Or did you forget that you can't implicate someone in wrongdoing for very long if their innocence will stand up to direct Truth-Reading? Or maybe you're reluctant not because you're unwilling to confess everything to him, but because you've already done that and you know he's not simply going to absolve you of your sins unless you're truly penitent? Is _that_ why you concocted that story about him, because Father Nivard is too conscientious a priest to just whitewash over your sordid acts and let you go on fooling the world into thinking you're harmless?"

Ædwige turned pale as she stared at her former friend, then crimson. "You think you're so righteous, Briony Morgan, but you're cut from the same cloth as your father! You may _think_ you'd never kill a man, but when your father gives you to some aged, spindly-legged codger with clammy hands who can't keep his gnarled paws off you, you'll do whatever it takes to free yourself from him too, see if you don't!"

Briony's eyes filled with tears, although she raised her chin defiantly. "I will not! I... I might kill a man if I had to... if my life depended on it... but I'd not commit murder like _you_ did!" She tossed her head, blinking away the annoying moisture in her eyes. "And anyway, my Papa wouldn't do that to me. He loves me!"

Ædwige smiled in cold triumph. "Does he now? That's funny; my own Papa loved me also, but he still gave me to Sir Gilrae. You see, Briony, it's a man's world, and they only love us as long as we're pretty, docile little poppets. But once we grow up, we're nothing but pawns. Even you, Briony, for all that you're a Duke's daughter." Ædwige gave a cool laugh. "Mayhap _especially_ you, being a Duke's daughter. I hope he's perfectly hideous, whoever Morgan or the King ends up saddling you with. Though you'll console yourself with knowing it's all for the good of Corwyn and the Kingdom that some man you loathe is stuffing you every night in hopes of breeding more man-cubs, won't you, because that's how you've been bred? Well, not me. _I'm_ made of stronger stuff, and I'll make my _own_ way in life."

Sivney's lips tightened as he put a protective arm around Briony's shoulders. "Yes, we see how well that's gone for you so far, Ædwige. But I thought you came here for a reason? If you've changed your mind, let's be off; we don't want to keep the King waiting any longer than absolutely necessary."

" _You_ might not." Ædwige smiled grimly at her former lover. " _I'm_ in no hurry to go through his sham of a trial and hear his slanted 'justice' handed down from on high. I already know what he's going to decide; why in the world would I want to hurry forth to hear _that?_ Though you're right, I did come here for a specific purpose." Turning back to Father Nivard, she added, "Father, I have a confession I need to make."

He inclined his head gravely. "Of course, my daughter." Sweeping his hand towards the relative privacy of a wall alcove, he added, "After you?"

Ædwige laughed. "Oh, not to _you_ , Father! No, I'll make my confession to the King's Coroner. I believe that's the custom, isn't it, when making a formal claim to the right of Sanctuary?"

#

Alaric had seen that thunderous look before on a previous king's face. How very much like Brion his son looked at this moment, and a furious Brion at that.

"She's done _what?!_ " Kelson roared as his brother-in-law brought him the unwelcome news of Ædwige's unexpected maneuver.

Lord Sivney flinched slightly but met his half-sister's husband's gaze steadily as he repeated himself. "She's sought sanctuary in the Chapel Royal. Father Nivard confirmed she's got the right to do so. Not that he seemed all that happy about it."

No, Alaric rather imagined not! He glanced at his cousin. Duncan sat nearby, staring up at the messenger with eyebrows raised in startled speculation.

Kelson drew his composure back together like a tattered cloak and glanced at the Auxiliary Bishop. "It's my chapel; I don't suppose I can simply drag the chit out of there and force her to face trial anyway?" he asked, his tone of voice indicating some vestige of his usual good humor had returned, however small it might yet be at that moment.

Duncan shook his head slowly, letting out a gusty sigh. "I wouldn't recommend it, Sire. It would put the Archbishops in the uncomfortable position of having to stand united against you, because she _does_ have the right to claim sanctuary from the Church, however little we may wish to grant that right to her."

"Then again, it just depends on whether you think handing down a formal sentence of execution on the damn-fool wench in spite of her claim is worth doing a bit of penance over, or if you'd rather just give her the rope to hang herself with," Alaric muttered. "The penance for dragging her out of a chapel—even the Chapel Royal—is a bit lower than if you were to haul her kicking and screaming out of the cathedral, I'd imagine, but it might be more worthwhile to simply let her have her way in this. My apologies, my Prince; I should have foreseen she might try a stunt like this." Glancing at his cousin again, he added, "And don't give me that look, Duncan; you'll note that I _didn't_ advise Kelson to drag her recalcitrant little arse out of the chapel, tempting as that thought might be."

Duncan's lips quirked. "So noted. And I'll admit to being far from immune to that temptation myself. It's a hell of a position for poor John to find himself in, though, after what she's put him through."

Kelson drummed restless fingers on the arm of his chair. "What does she thinks she stands to gain with this ploy? Aside from forty days of postponing the inevitable, I mean? Surely she doesn't think I mean to simply let her go afterward?"

Duncan nodded. "If she forfeits all her worldly goods to the Crown and abjures the realm, you'd be bound to release her by law and tradition, so long as she meets all of the requisite conditions. Although I doubt the lass has thought her situation through—either that, or she lacks a thorough understanding of the laws and conditions pertaining to claims of sanctuary—or else she'd know she stands little hope of success with her plan despite that, especially if the coroner she makes her confession to is in the least bit unsympathetic. A swift execution at a skilled swordsman's hand would be far more humane than any number of fates that might befall her if she insists on pursuing this course. The conditions which must be met for the sanctuary laws to apply also make it unlikely that the supplicant will completely escape justice, although of course that would be exactly what she's hoping for."

"Yes, won't that be a nasty shock for her? And in the meantime she's to be housed and fed at my expense for the next forty days, unless she makes her confession and decides to test the winds of Fortune sooner?" Kelson gave his companions a grim smile. "All right, then, I'd planned to offer her a quick and merciful death despite the severity of her crimes, but if she's so determined to run headlong from folly to folly, far be it from me to stop her."

#

"You cannot be serious!" Briony paced the aisle of the small chapel in agitation. "Ædwige, claiming sanctuary isn't going to help your case at all!"

"Oh? I fail to see how doing so could possibly hurt it!" Ædwige declared, a smug look marring her otherwise lovely features.

The Queen's lady-in-waiting threw up her hands. "Father Nivard, tell her!"

The priest nodded, gazing earnestly at the young woman before him. "I don't think you understand all that's involved in sanctuary law."

"I think I understand it well enough," Ædwige bluffed. "I know I get to escape trial and execution. I might have to confess everything I did to a coroner, but in any case everyone already _knows_ all that or I'd not be here in this predicament, now would I? And then I'd be free to leave."

"And go where, my lady?" John asked gently.

"Bremagne, or... well, someplace besides _here_ , I suppose! Does it really matter?"

He gave her a sad smile. "It might. How do you plan to afford such a trip, if all of your worldly possessions become forfeit to the Crown?"

"Become..." Ædwige stared at him for a long moment, then tossed her head, looking mulish. "Well, I'm sure there are ways around that! Papa..." Her voice trailed off as she realized she couldn't call upon his help either.

"No, Ædwige, he _couldn't_ help, even if he were willing. If you claim right of sanctuary, all your worldly goods become forfeit to the Crown, including any coin or goods your father might wish to supply you with while you are in the Crown's keeping. And if you remain here the full forty days you're entitled to by law, then offering you any aid at all after the fortieth day would be a hanging offense for a layman. Even a priest couldn't offer you any sort of assistance after that, even to give you so much as a cup of water or scrap of bread, for fear of banishment. You'd be a confessed felon, sworn to leave the realm of Gwynedd at the earliest opportunity. Sworn to go directly to whichever port the King's Coroner directs you to depart from, and to seek passage elsewhere within the course of a single tide. And if you _don't_ manage to find a ship's captain willing to convey you—which might be a much harder task than you realize if you have no coin on you or valuable goods to barter with—then you must wade daily into the sea up to your knees to show your willingness to cross over until such passage might be found."

"Well... up to my knees wouldn't be so bad..." Ædwige said, her voice faltering only a little.

John leaned forward slightly, pressing the point. "My lady, you would be considered a wolf's head, exiled from the City and bound to make your way from here on the most direct highway to whichever port of exile the Coroner directs you to, whether it be one nearby such as Desse or one all the way across the Kingdom, like Lady Briony's Coroth. You would be bare-headed and dressed in sackcloth, carrying a wooden cross which you must make by your own hand, bound by law to proclaim your crimes to all passers-by along your route, and not permitted to stop in any place longer than one night. Should you fail in this, people are justly entitled to treat you as the wolf and behead you without fear of penalty. And if you should ever set foot in Gwynedd again, you will be an outlaw and your head forfeit to any man who can lift a sword."

"But that would happen anyway, wouldn't it, if I turn myself over to the King's Justice?" Ædwige tossed her head. "Which means there's little harm in me trying my chance at it; certainly more hope in that than _not_ trying! Besides, isn't the Coroner also supposed to warn people off from hurting me?"

"Yes, but it's not like he's going to follow you the entire way out of Rhemuth!" Briony exclaimed. "Ædwige, be reasonable! The moment you're out of sight of the City gates, you could be prey to anyone out there. Some of Sir Gilrae's relatives, perhaps—they'd have good reason to want you dead, wouldn't they? Or the common folk; they're not too keen on convicted murderers wandering about the countryside! And there are bands of brigands who travel along the highways looking for easy prey; what do you think your chances would be if you fell into _their_ hands?"

Ædwige smiled. "Have you forgotten I'm Deryni?"

Briony gaped at her. "No, but that hardly makes you invincible, nor does it make you immortal!"

"Maybe not, but maybe it makes me better equipped than you lily-livered lot who refuse to take advantage of our full powers!" Ædwige shrugged. "I've made my decision and you can't stop me. Live or die, I'll do it on my own terms."

"Dear Jesú..." Briony swallowed down tears. "I can't bring myself to wish you dead, but I can't bring myself to wish you success either. Even if you do make it to Bremagne or some other Kingdom, how will you be able to survive, much less live with yourself after?"

Ædwige snorted. "Sweet little innocent, and you nearly a woman grown!" She patted the maiden's hand condescendingly. "I'll be just fine."


	34. Part II--Chapter 25

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

 _Rhemuth Castle—Chapel Royal  
November 18, 1136_

Lady Ædwige knelt before the Coroner of Rhemuth in the presence of a jury of witnesses, her eyes defiant as she finished her recitation of her crimes. She gazed up at him as she repeated the Oath of Abjuration. "I swear on the Holy Book that I will leave the realm of Gwynedd and never return without the express permission of my Lord the King or his heirs. I will hasten by the direct road to the port allotted to me and not leave the King's highway under pain of arrest or execution. I will not stay at one place more than one night and will seek diligently for a passage across the sea as soon as I arrive, delaying only one tide if possible. If I cannot secure such passage, I will walk into the sea up to my knees every day as a token of my desire to cross. And if I fail in all this, then peril shall be my lot." She paused at the end of her speech, then added. "Is that it, then?"

"That's the full oath, yes, my Lady," the Coroner confirmed.

"So I'm free to leave now?" Ædwige pressed.

"No." The Coroner gave a grim smile as the abjurer's eyes widened.

"No?! Why not?"

"Because you don't know where you're off to yet, now do you? And besides that, I believe you still have a few items of the Crown's property in your possession."

"A few... What do I have that belongs to the Crown?" Ædwige eyes snapped blue fire. "The King's already stripped me of my rightful title and manor! Does he mean..." Her mouth dropped open in horror. "He doesn't mean to rip my child from my womb, does he?"

"Jesú, no!" The Coroner looked taken aback by the question, as did the King himself. Kelson stepped forward to address her.

"Lady Ædwige, for the sake of your unborn child, We give you this last chance to reconsider your decision. He _is_ the rightful heir to Eddington, after all, or at least he shall be if he lives and thrives, and for his father's sake, if you will give up this mad scheme and submit to Our authority, We will spare your life until his birth."

"And only until then? I think _not!_ " Ædwige snorted. "We'll take our chances, thank you. If you want the sniveling little brat once he's born, I'll send him back to you in the keeping of a wet nurse, though _you'll_ have to pay for their passage since you've left me destitute. I'll certainly have no use for a baby without Eddington!"

Kelson's lips tightened as he studied her gravely. "So be it, then. Should you give birth to a live son, We will make provision for him to be returned to his rightful inheritance once he is strong enough to make the journey, but We can promise you no more mercy or forbearance than We've already shown." He glanced at his Queen. "Araxie, this woman's clothes and shoes belong to the Crown. See that she returns them before she leaves the Castle grounds." He turned to look at his Coroner. "And from which port shall La—shall the fugitive be departing Our realm?

The Coroner studied Ædwige sourly. "I had thought the Port of Stavenham would be a fitting departure point, Your Majesty."

"Stavenham?" The steel gray eyes gleamed. "Indeed."

Ædwige paled. "Stavenham?!" she squeaked. "But... why not _Desse?_ Stavenham's all the way across the Kingdom! It's even farther than... than Coroth, isn't it?"

"Quite so," the Coroner agreed, a faint smile beginning to appear at the woman's discomfiture.

"But... there's no way I can walk all the way to Stavenham before the wintry weather closes the ports! That's hundreds of miles away, and it's already the middle of November!"

"So it is. I imagine you'd better walk quickly, then, and hope for an early spring thaw." The man raised his hand. " _After_ you've changed your clothing and built the cross you must bear on your journey. Ladies, I trust you'll not let the fugitive out of your sight while she does so?"

The Queen and her ladies, several Deryni among them, murmured their assent. Princess Rothana stepped forward bearing the folded gown of coarse sackcloth hastily stitched together for the occasion.

"Very well, then. I'll be waiting along with the Royal Guard just outside the chapel door. The Widow Ædwige still needs to make her own cross to bear along the way, so once she's decently garbed in sackcloth, just call out and we'll escort her to the courtyard." He raked the stunned woman before him with an assessing look and added, "Don't hesitate to cry out if she gives you the _least_ bit of trouble, no matter what state of undress she might be in at the time. No need to risk your own lives to protect the modesty of a rabid she-wolf." He turned on his heel, following in the King's wake, the other male witnesses in the room all following suit.

#

Once the men had retreated down the corridor toward the Great Hall, Kelson turned back, his gaze scanning the faces of his courtiers until he found one in particular. "Marley, attend me." He walked on through the upper end of the Hall and into the withdrawing room just beyond the dais, Earl Brendan following close behind.

At a nod from the King, one of the royal squires closed the door to allow his master greater privacy with the young Earl. Kelson sat, but Brendan continued to stand, attentively awaiting his instructions.

The King sighed, studying the younger man for a long moment before speaking. "Brendan, I have a mission for you and your retainers. It's likely to be tedious and not much to your liking, though there's no help for that. More to the point, if you feel for any reason you need to recuse yourself from this task, I need to know that now and not later. I'm given to understand that at one time you might have been... perhaps forming a tentative sort of attachment to Ædwige of Eddington?"

Brendan's cheeks colored slightly, but he held the King's gaze steadily. "Only very tentative, Sire, and not really much of an attachment. I _was_ attracted once, but not seriously so." He gave Kelson a sheepish smile. "She was rather free with her kisses, and I'm afraid I lacked the self-discipline to avoid taking some advantage of that. But there was nothing between us that would prove an impediment to me offering her safe escort to Stavenham, if that's what you're asking me and my men to do."

Kelson shook his head. "Not exactly. I do intend for you to follow Ædwige, though at a discreet distance and not for her protection. She forfeited her rights to that or any other aid when she decided to claim the right of sanctuary. But it's a long journey from Rhemuth to Stavenham, and the Widow Eddington isn't the sort to abide by the rules for very long. She may well decide to try to take some sort of advantage of others along the way, whether directly or indirectly. She's already proven that she'll not hesitate to use her Deryni powers unlawfully if doing so will gain her some advantage, and even if she doesn't go quite _that_ far once she thinks she's a safe distance beyond Rhemuth's gates, she might decide to steal food and clothing or someone's horse in order to travel through the Kingdom faster. If, during her journey to Stavenham, she should prove a danger to others along the way or commit some other sort of crime—and I've little doubt she'll try _something_ sooner or later—your task is to arrest her and bring her back to Rhemuth for trial." The King gave his liegeman a grim smile. "Her claim of Sanctuary only covers her previously committed felonies. I have the right to have her re-arrested should she commit any new ones along the way."

"Jesú, my guess is that she'll barely make it past the City gates!" Brendan gave a short laugh. "Might I add a few extra men to my number then, preferably Deryni? Ædwige is likely to put up a major fight if I have to re-arrest her."

"No doubt she will, and yes, I have a couple of men I can spare for a few days. I doubt the woman has enough patience, much less sufficient survival skills, to get much further than that before making some misstep that will allow you to bring her in without violating Sanctuary law. Even leaving the main route to Stavenham to take some alternate path would count as a deviation from the Sanctuary laws and would give you grounds for an arrest." Kelson leaned back in his chair with a slight smile. "Once she makes that misstep, whatever it might be, that's when you and your men will move in, Brendan." The smile faded. "Do your best to take her alive, if you can. Ædwige may care little for her own child, to take such a risk with his life rather than waiting until after his birth before making her run for sanctuary—surely she must have known I wouldn't have sent her to the headsman's block before her lying-in, much less unshriven—but I'd rather not see the Eddington heir-apparent lost needlessly if that can be prevented."

Brendan nodded. "That makes my task a bit more difficult, of course. Ædwige certainly won't be concerned about hurting me or my party if we try to take her, so that will place our side at a disadvantage." He chuckled. "And we didn't exactly part on the best of terms; I doubt I'd be able to convince the lady I've followed her in hopes of a parting kiss. But what if she puts up enough resistance to become a danger to other people? I might not be able to stop her without putting her child at risk, much as I'd hate to."

"I know. And if that's the case, so be it; do whatever becomes necessary. I simply ask that you take reasonable precautions, but if killing Ædwige is the only way you can stop her from endangering anyone else, than I'd rather have only one innocent's life on my conscience than the lives of many." Kelson studied the young knight before him. " _Would_ you be able to kill her, if it came down to that? I know it goes against the grain a bit, taking up arms against a woman, and especially one you once had some level of closeness with, even if it didn't run so very deep. It's not too late for me to ask someone else, if you aren't absolutely sure you can do whatever might end up being necessary."

Brendan considered the offer for a moment, then nodded. "I could do it, Sire, if I absolutely had to, though I hope it never comes to that. If the worst happens, I might spend a sleepless week or two wondering what I might have done differently, but you're right, she's not likely to simply leave the Kingdom peacefully, nor do I imagine she'll 'go and sin no more.' If she's not stopped, she'll just continue to do anything and everything she can to gain and hold on to power, if not in Gwynedd, then in some other kingdom. And if she continues to misuse her Deryni gifts along the way in order to do that..." The young Earl of Marley sighed. "I'd really rather not see an anti-Deryni uprising now that we've finally reached a decent level of accord between humans and Deryni throughout the Kingdom."

#

Ædwige scowled as she bound together the two pieces of wood she'd just collected with a few lengths of reed to form a crude cross. Her sackcloth gown itched despite hanging too loosely upon her frame. One might think it was sewn for an elephant, she groused, although only in her mind; she might be pregnant, but she was hardly _that_ huge yet! Though she might well be by the time she made it all the way to bloody Stavenham. Tears pricked at her eyes at the thought, though she blinked them back proudly. She wouldn't let this lot see her weeping; no, she was stronger than that!

The first thing she'd do, once she was safely beyond Rhemuth, would be to get rid of this itchy shift. Surely even peasant clothing would be better than this, and if she could acquire a decent enough dress, she could perhaps convince a laundress that she was some noblewoman's tiring maid sent to pick up the week's laundry, and make off with even finer garb. There had to be some way to pass herself off as someone respectable, even if she had to pretend to be of lowly birth for a short while. Not _too_ low, of course. A merchant's daughter or something, perhaps. She might be able to fall in with a group of travelers if she did that, which would offer her greater safety along the way. Though why would a merchant's daughter be traveling on her own? All right, a merchant's widow then, perhaps returning to her parents' home in hopes of being in her mother's tender care during her lying-in. Or something. She was sure she'd come up with a reasonable enough story once the opportunity arose. And it would, eventually. Throughout her life, such opportunities had always managed to, and while she'd never managed to get herself in such a dire predicament before now, Ædwige was certain her luck would turn favorable again once she was out from under the prying eyes of the Gwyneddan King's hopelessly deluded and idealistic Court.

And really, now that she stopped to think about it, why _should_ she go all the way to Stavenham after all? The Coroner and his jurors were hardly likely to follow her to see if she did as she was bid, now were they? No, she'd travel just far enough out to be sure they were no longer watching her progress, and then she'd turn and make for Desse, just as she'd always meant to do. Just as the Coroner would have told her to do himself if he'd had even half a brain in his head. Stavenham! Ædwige snorted in disdain. Let _him_ walk all the way to Stavenham in the bloody wintertime, if he was so keen on the idea. _She_ had a better plan.

With a forbearing smile, she hefted her cross and followed her persecutors towards the Castle gatehouse.

#

Sextus Lord Braxton awaited the arrival of his squire, Jemmy Kitchener, at the Castle's southern gatehouse. Beside him stood his wife, cradling their young son whose dark violet eyes curiously peered up at the castle's battlements over Avisa's shoulder.

The knight smiled as he reached a fingertip up to brush a strand of cat hair off his son's moist cheek. "Been after the Basilica cats again, I see," he commented.

Avisa laughed. "Oh, yes. Poor Pouncer! I'd set Jordan down on the floor in Bishop Duncan's study and had only turned my back for a few moments when I heard a distressed mew, and when I turned again, your son had the poor creature cornered and was either trying to nurse or teethe! And just when she thought she was finally free of kittens for good."

Sextus raised an ebony eyebrow at his wife. "And why is it that he suddenly becomes _my_ son when he's finding mischief to get into?" He slanted a distracted grin at her, but his gaze drifted beyond her to his approaching squire, who was leading two horses, one of which was his own unflappable Murray. Murray bore a diminutive rider who waved in their direction as the two youngsters and horses approached. Baby Jordan's eyes lit at the sight of the familiar arrivals, and he began to coo. His father chuckled. "No, son, you can't eat my horse too. You've had quite enough animal hair in your diet for one afternoon."

"He doesn't want to eat Murray, silly," Grub said as she dismounted. "He wants his big sister!" Ten year old Grub reached her arms up to take her baby brother from Avisa, who gladly relinquished the lively little weight. The girl turned her cheek up for her father's kiss. "You'll be careful on your mission, won't you, Six? No taking any stupid chances!" She glanced back at Jemmy without waiting for Sextus's answer. "You hear me, Jemmy? You take good care of him. If Six dies and I hear it's because you let him do something stupid, I'll kill you in your sleep, see if I won't!"

Jemmy's brown eyes danced as he grinned down at her. "I live in fear! I guess I'll just have to manage to drag your father back in one piece somehow, just so you can't make good on your threat."

Sextus reached down and caressed the top of his daughter's head, knowing that her bluster masked a degree of genuine worry. "I'll be fine. And it's the knight who's supposed to watch over his inexperienced squire, you know, not the other way around."

"Um hm," Grub muttered. "Except we all _know_ you. And you really _do_ need to start being more careful, because you've gone and popped _another_ loaf in Mumsy's oven, so she'll need you back home safe and sound to keep the boys busy so she can get more rest."

The knight gave his wife a startled glance. Avisa blushed, looking torn between embarrassment and laughter. "Darling, there are more ladylike ways to refer to that... um... particular condition. Let's practice more polite phrases when we get home tonight, shall we?" At her husband's curious look, she gave a confirming nod. "I wasn't absolutely certain until last night. I meant to tell you once you got back."

"Well... um..." Sextus gave her a sheepish grin. "Can you at least say if we're having a boy loaf or a girl loaf?"

His wife laughed. "I don't know; it's not baked enough yet for me to tell. I'm quite sure we'll end up with one or the other, though." She approached Murray's side, standing on tiptoe as he bent to give her a farewell kiss. "Go on, love, the Earl's waiting on you."

"Marley can cool his heels a few moments longer," Sextus murmured as he nuzzled his wife briefly. "You're prettier than he is."

Avisa grinned as she took a step back. "There are several young ladies at Court and in the Schola who might disagree with you, I'm afraid. Brendan Coris has more than his fair share of admirers." She reached out to pat Murray's shoulder. "We'll see you when you get back. I've decided to stay at Braxton House until the weather turns fairer rather than try to make the trip back to Kinlochan this time of year, and the Rector says that if you're agreeable to Amanda remaining behind after the Christmas holidays, she can begin her studies in the next term. But we can discuss all that once you return."

"I don't think Bishop McLain knows what he's up against, letting in Grub," Jemmy teased, grinning as the young girl stuck her tongue out at him. He turned his horse to follow Sextus's lead. The guards at the gate opened it to let the men ride out, and knight and squire rode forth to join the Earl of Marley and his retainers.

#

Rumor had spread like a roaring fire throughout the City of Rhemuth, so when the fugitive ventured forth from the main gatehouse of Rhemuth Castle, she found a large number of the populace had turned out in force, the teeming throngs lining the King's Way in hopes of catching a glimpse of the felon who had dared to defy their monarch by claiming sanctuary in his own Chapel Royal. Ædwige had enough sense of the theatrical to avoid preening for the crowds. Instead, she kept her eyes demurely lowered to the cobbled path before her, only turning her face at a slight angle to allow her golden tresses to stream behind her in the crisp breeze so her youthful beauty could be seen to best advantage and bowing her back a slight bit more under the wooden cross she bore. If people chanced to make mental comparisons between the injustice of her plight and that of Lord Jesú as he bore His own cross through the streets of faraway Jerusalem, and were to grow angry with their heartless King, could she really help that? It wouldn't be her problem, of course; she'd be living in Bremagne or perhaps Fianna by the time the common folk would get enough gumption up to do more than stir and murmur, but she suppressed a smile at the thought that she might, in some small way, still manage to have _some_ part in dethroning the petty young princeling.

A rotten apple flew through the air, landing on the hard stone just in front of her, fermenting pulp splashing onto the hem of her garment. Ædwige looked up in time to see one of the King's Guard ride forward to chase off the peasant churl who had thrown it. She scowled at the knight. No doubt he'd deliberately delayed doing anything to stop the man in hopes that the ruffian's apple would hit its mark, and only pretended to pay heed to his purported job of enforcing the Coroner's orders that she be allowed to leave the City without fear of injury or attack. Hypocrites all, the King's courtiers!

Ædwige plastered on her most helpless expression of injured innocence and returned her attention to the road before her, stumbling onward, hoping that someone might feel moved enough by pity for her plight to follow and lend her some aid once the King's men had done their duty by her and returned to their liegelord.

#

Ædwige had no sooner passed through Prince's Square than the Earl of Marley and his men, accompanied by Lord Braxton and his young squire, started down the King's Way several hundred yards behind her, maintaining their discreet distance both from the object of their observation and from each other. They were dressed as common folk rather than as two noblemen flanked by liveried retainers, for in a hurried consultation with each other earlier in the day, while the Widow Eddington was still making her final preparations for embarking upon her journey, Sextus had pointed out to Brendan the futility of trying to shadow Ædwige inconspicuously while dressed in clothing suitable for a King's Court, and the younger man had readily agreed that it would be best for their party to dress in less noticeable clothing. As mounted men, of course, they could hardly pass for the humblest sorts of rustics, but they'd managed to dress down enough to be taken for merchants at a brief glance. Rather prosperous merchants, to be sure, but not so much as to stand out _too_ obviously among the City's crowds. Of course, once they drew closer to her, their fugitive would recognize some of them right off, especially Brendan, but that could hardly be helped.

Ædwige continued on, past St. George's Square and the Cathedral and beyond that, onward along the King's Way towards the Fish Market and eventually through the Bishop's Gate. As they rode through the gate themselves, the night watch closed it behind them. Their quarry remained oblivious as she walked on, her steps now drawing her closer to St. Joseph's Abbey in the near distance. They continued to follow in the gathering darkness as the young woman before them walked onward, northeastward up the Via Romana, beginning the first leg of the journey towards Ramos and Valoret. It was the most direct highway towards Stavenham, and for the men in the Earl's party at least, it was also familiar enough ground, for much of the same route led to Marley as well.

The terrain grew more hilly just beyond the city's environs. Ædwige's steps began to flag, and Brendan wondered if she was beginning to tire. He imagined she must be exhausted by this time and would surely be looking for someplace safe to shelter for the night before too much longer, although there was a chance she might choose to use a fatigue banishing spell instead. As he watched and pondered what she might decide to do, he saw a small band of shadowy figures ride out from behind a low hill, stopping directly in the young woman's path. He suppressed his instinctive urge to intervene, sternly directing his men to hold back while they assessed the situation. She did not appear to be under any sort of immediate attack, at any rate. It appeared that Ædwige and the leader of the other party were conversing at length.

Then the horseman held out what appeared to be a flask to the young woman, who accepted it, drinking from it rather greedily from what Brendan could make out, although even Deryni-enhanced senses could not pierce the night's darkness well enough for him to be certain of what he saw by this point. He gave a signal to his men to spread out, and they continued moving forward cautiously, remaining vigilant, under orders to observe but not make their presence known. Their quarry appeared to need no rescue at the moment, and even if she did, they could not legally go to her aid. Not yet. But if Ædwige were going to commit some breach of the sanctuary law, it would probably happen in the next few moments, and once _that_ happened, his men would be more free to intervene. _Then_ they could make their arrest, or even more than one if that proved to be necessary, and if they happened to save the wily young vixen's scheming little life in the process, she might even be grateful, if only momentarily. Any gratitude would have worn off by the time they brought her back to Kelson, of course, but Brendan could live with that.

He caught Sextus Arilan's eye and nodded towards a shadowy hillside, casting a quick burst of thought in his direction. Arilan nodded and turned to give similar silent direction to his squire. The two rode on, taking a different path forward from the young Earl's.


	35. Part II--Chapter 26

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

 _The Via Rumana, northeast of Rhemuth  
November 18, 1136—night_

Ædwige studied the man before her, wondering how she could best use him to her advantage. She sipped at the wine in the flask he'd offered her while she listened to the proposal he was offering. It was quite refreshing, the wine, though despite her thirst she'd not have taken the stranger up on his offer had he not taken a drink from the flask first to demonstrate his good will before handing it to her. She was no idiot, after all, to trust these men so completely, despite the alliance he was offering her at the moment.

"... So you throw in your lot with us, and in return you'll have our protection," the man summed up before pausing for her answer.

"And what's the advantage for you?" she asked him, her voice neutral, although his proposal sounded highly tempting. She knew better than to think he was offering her his protection out of sheer kindness, though.

"What's in it for _us?_ " The man smiled. "My dear lady, you _are_ a Deryni, are you not? Or have the city gossips got it all wrong?"

"Maybe... maybe not. What use have you for a Deryni, and why should I help you? You offer me protection, but if you believe me to be Deryni, then surely you must know that I'm quite capable of protecting myself? And if I don't go directly to Stavenham as the Coroner has ordered, I will be outlawed and my life could be forfeit. So what advantage would there be for me to turn aside from what I've been bidden to do in order to join in with you? I've been given a chance at freedom; why should I take such a risk?"

The man laughed heartily at that. "Lady, if you make it all the way to Stavenham under the conditions set before you, I'll eat my horse! One way or another, you'll turn outlaw before your journey's end—you'd pretty much have to in order to survive—and as soon as that happens, you're naught but a wolf's head and every man jack in the kingdom can go after you and collect a bounty. You know it, I know it, the Coroner knows it as well, and you can bet your last coin—had you any left—that he deliberately chose Stavenham as your port of departure in hopes that you'd end up on the point of someone's sword or knife before you'd gone twenty miles from the city gates. And yes, I'll concede that a Deryni lass has a better chance at surviving on her own than most, for a day or two at any rate, but the fact remains that you'll have to sleep sometime, and when you do, you're just as vulnerable as any other woman in the realm. Even more so, in fact, given that most women in the realm probably don't have a whole lot of folk actively wishing them dead in hopes of getting some reward money. So you see, assuming you would like to sleep on occasion, not to mention have a group of well-armed men watching your pretty little back, you'd do well to throw in your lot with us." He grinned. "And it's not like _we're_ going to become any more outlaw than we are already, if we throw in with the likes of you."

Ædwige considered his offer. Much as she hated to admit it to herself, he did make some good points. Not that she intended to turn to the brigand's life—at least not for any longer than she absolutely had to—but still, if she ever wanted to rise in her fortunes again, she'd need to start somewhere, and for that she'd need coin and the appearance of respectability and wealth. These men were decently enough clothed and armed, given their station, which meant they must be fairly successful at whatever they did to obtain such fine clothing, armor, and weapons. Perhaps they could be useful to her after all, and once she had obtained what she needed to pass herself off as a respectable noblewoman again, she could part company with the ruffians and take ship to some foreign port, leaving all risk of encountering the King's loyalists behind her and starting her new life in a city of her choosing. She'd need to marry again, probably—there seemed little escaping _that_ fate in such a man-dominated world, if a woman wished to get anywhere in it—but at least this time she could charm someone of her own choosing into wedding her. And once she'd married into title and fortune, she'd have the power and influence that was rightfully hers, and no one could ever take it away from her again.

"So, what would you need for me to do?" Ædwige asked the man. "And if you've been listening to the City gossips, you doubtless already know who I am, but I don't know anything about you. What am I to call you?"

"Royce," the man answered. "I'm called Royce of Pardiac."

#

The Earl of Marley had managed to maneuver close enough to overhear the latter part of the Connaiti outlaw's spiel, and he was tempted to move in, yet he lingered in the shadows, knowing that Ædwige had not said or done quite enough to damn herself completely in the law's eyes. Not just yet, at any rate, although from his vantage point she appeared quite clearly tempted by the brigand's proposal.

"So, what exactly is it that you want from me, Goodman Royce?" Ædwige repeated, a trace of irony leaking into her voice as she added the honorific title. Judging from the man's appreciative chuckle, the irony hadn't been missed. "You and your men seem quite capable of defending yourselves," the young woman noted. "So I doubt you're trying to enlist a Deryni's aid for that purpose alone. What, then? Are you needing me to pick locks or steal for you, or perhaps just cloud others' senses so they don't notice you as you're doing your own thievery? Or is it murder you have in mind instead? If it is, I'll let you know right off that I want no part in that sort of thing. I've come too close to having my neck stretched or severed as it is, and that was just for killing a man who needed killing."

"No, no, unlatching locks and the occasional diversionary tactic will serve just fine," Royce assured her. "That and bearing me a son or two. Or even a daughter, so long as she inherits your talents."

Brendan was close enough now to see the lady's eyes widen. "You want me to breed a Deryni child for yourself... Jesú, no, I should think _not!_ Your price is far too steep, sirrah!" After her initial shock, a more calculating look crossed her fair features. "Unless... Do you mean to speak of the child that's already growing in my womb? Because if you are, the King has already offered to pay passage for him to be returned to Gwynedd once he's born, assuming he survives, but perhaps we can work out some sort of a deal? If you can keep me safe long enough for me to gain a bit of travel money and give birth to the lad here, then once I'm recovered enough from his birth to arrange passage to some other Kingdom, in return I'll help you with your schemes as I'm able and you can keep the boy. By rights he's to be the heir to Eddington, so you _might_ be able to earn some ransom for him, but if you feel the risk to you is too great, then if the King simply assumes the child perished along with me along the route to Stavenham, _I'm_ certainly not going to inform him otherwise! You'd need a nursemaid for him for the early years, of course, but he'll be Deryni and ought to be trainable, if it's a little lock-pick you're after." She smiled winsomely at the rogue. "Mayhap a few months of your protection and ten sovereigns ought to make it worth my while to sell the little lad to you?"

Royce laughed heartily. "My protection _and_ enough coin to buy myself a finer horse? You hold the child far too dear, and he's not even born yet!" He gave the young woman a slow once-over. "And besides, what if I'd prefer to make my own?"

"That is _not_ an option," Ædwige said icily.

"Is it not?" Royce countered. With a swift lunge, he scooped the young widow up in his arms and turned away from the shadowed area where Brendan was concealed, rapidly striding towards the man holding his horse at the ready. Ædwige, glowering, appeared to be calling up lethal energies from deep within, but then a look of utter consternation crossed her face.

"What have you done to me?" she screamed.

The outlaw laughed as he handed Ædwige over to one of his men and swung himself up into the saddle. "Sweeting, never accept food or wine from a stranger," he warned her far too late. "You never know what sort of surprise you might find in it."

#

 _Have we seen enough yet?_ Brendan Mind-spoke to Sextus Arilan.

 _I believe so. Think the chit will be properly grateful for her rescue?_ Sextus answered as he gave Murray the signal to move forward to cut off the outlaw band's retreat.

 _Perhaps for the first few moments. Once we start riding back towards Rhemuth, I rather doubt it,_ Brendan answered, his Mind-voice sounding grimly amused. _What do you suppose he did to her? He couldn't have dosed her wine with merasha, or she'd have been affected by it long before that point._ As he continued the silent communication with Lord Braxton, he signaled for his retainers to spread out and surround the retreating brigands. They surged forward to close the short distance between themselves and the outlaw band, no longer concerned with stealth.

 _No, it was something far more subtle than merasha, and probably a good deal more benign,_ Sextus confirmed. _He merely meant to prevent her from drawing upon her powers temporarily, but not to incapacitate her fully, or she would have noticed its effects earlier. And it's either something that has to be consumed in a large enough quantity to take effect, or it's harmless on humans. You may have noticed that the outlaw leader took a swallow of it first before offering her the flask. Either that, or he mimed it convincingly enough to fool her despite her close range. I'd love to get hold of that flask and see if I can tell what's in it. You never know when something of that sort might come in handy._

Ahead, the brigand restraining Ædwige clamped a rag over her nose and mouth, not without a good deal of difficulty, as the woman he was attempting to abduct was still struggling. He continued to subdue her, though, and after a moment she collapsed against him. He handed her up to one of the other ruffians who was already mounted, hauling himself into the saddle swiftly before the other approaching horsemen could quite reach him.

But by now the men of Marley had drawn close enough to engage the fleeing outlaws. A couple of brigands, cut off from retreat by Lord Braxton and his young squire circling around to approach from behind, started to wheel off in a different direction, but they reined their horses in sharply as a wall of fire suddenly sprang up before them. A few of the Marley men drew back in surprise as well, but most remained unfazed, too accustomed to contact with High Deryni lords by now—and their own in particular—to be cowed by even an unexpected display of magic. A small number of the renegades—those who had managed to begin their flight earliest, including their leader Royce of Pardiac—disappeared into a nearby copse of trees, although Brendan and Sextus along with their followers swiftly rounded up the remaining ruffians, including the man whose horse carried the unconscious Ædwige.

 _#_

Ædwige awakened to find herself lying on the ground with a young man leaning over her. She gathered her breath to scream, but let it out in a relieved sigh as she belatedly realized who he was. A moment after that, a wary look crossed her face. "What are _you_ doing here, Jemmy?"

"How do you feel?" he asked rather than replying to her question. "Do you think you can sit up?"

She reached for his arm, raising herself to a more upright position. "I'm... I feel a bit dizzy still." She glanced around at the men around her. Something about them seemed oddly familiar as well, although she didn't think they belonged to the outlaw band that followed Royce of Pardiac. Well, on second thought, there _were_ a few faces here and there who she thought might belong to that group of ruffians, but they appeared to be subdued and under heavy guard. She looked back up at Jemmy. "What happened?"

"You were about to be abducted by brigands," Jemmy explained.

The memory returned. "Oh. Oh, right!" She colored. "He was planning to ravish me, I think. Their leader, I mean." Tears welled up in her eyes.

"That's quite likely," Jemmy said matter-of-factly. "It's a good thing we showed up when we did. Tell me, can you summon up handfire yet?"

"Handfire? Of course I can!" Ædwige said indignantly, then a look of doubt crossed her face. "At least I _ought_ to be able to..." She cupped her hand and concentrated, but nothing manifested except for the faintest of glows, fading away in an instant.

"Ah, just as I thought. Here, have some wine; maybe that will help," Jemmy told her as he offered her the flask lying on the ground next to her.

Ædwige took the proffered beverage and took a few deep swallows. After a moment, she tried again, cupping her hand and focusing intently on trying to will handfire into existence. Nothing happened. "No, that's not helping," she told Jemmy, a note of panic edging into her voice. "I don't understand!"

"That's all right, I'm sure your powers will return in time. Just not, Jesú willing, until _after_ we've returned you to Rhemuth Keep."

" _Rhemuth Keep?!_ " The panic flared into full blossom. "But... I'm to go to _Stavenham!_ I've claimed the right of sanctuary!"

A low chuckle sounded from behind her, and she glanced up at the source. A black haired man stood over her, grinning down at Jemmy. He, too, looked vaguely familiar.

"Nicely done, lad. Be sure to save the rest of that flask for me to take a closer look at later. I'm quite curious to find out what else it contains besides wine; I might have use for something of the sort myself someday." The black-haired man with the blue-violet eyes gave Ædwige a courteous bow, although he appeared to be silently laughing at her plight. "Widow Ædwige, until lately Dowager Lady of Eddington, I re-arrest you in the name of Kelson, King of Gwynedd, on the charges of violating Sanctuary law, outlawry, and conspiracy to treason against the Crown."

"You're... you're Lady Avisa's husband, aren't you?" she murmured, feeling somewhat dazed. "That upstart knight errant who married up and became landed."

"I have that good fortune, yes," Sextus confirmed, his grin widening at her description of him, though his eyes contained a dangerous spark. "Though I should warn you not to describe me that way to my wife, or she's not likely to let you live long enough to stand trial. And that would be a damn shame, after all the effort it took for us to rescue you!"

Another nobleman, finally free from the task of securing the captured outlaws, now turned to face them, and Ædwige was startled to discover that she knew him as well. "Earl Brendan!"

The young man nodded curtly, perfunctorily polite. "Are you feeling well enough to sit a horse yet? The night grows quite late, not to mention rather cold, and I'd rather not stay out in it any longer than necessary when there are warm beds and hearths awaiting us back in Rhemuth."

Hope kindled briefly in Ædwige's heart. She lowered her eyes demurely and tried to look weak and helpless—in her present condition, that was hardly difficult!—and stammered, "Oh, Brendan, dearest, _must_ we go back? You see I'm still on the main route to Stavenham, and it's hardly _my_ fault I nearly got captured by nasty old outlaws! You wouldn't believe the horrible things their leader wanted me to do!" She shuddered delicately. "I'm _so_ glad you came to rescue me!" A tear slipped down one silken cheek. "I know _you_ wouldn't want any harm to come to me, not after our... our intimate friendship! Can't you just see me as far as the next town, and I swear I'll be very careful of the company I come into contact with between here and Stavenham from here on out!"

A red-gold eyebrow rose slightly as cornflower blue eyes gazed impassively down at her. "Nice try, Ædwige, but I heard the conditions you offered to the brigand Royce. And as for our 'friendship,' I don't recall it ever being as intimate as all that; perhaps you have me confused with someone else?"

#

The ride back to the Castle with the prisoners was nearly uneventful. Between the drawn swords of all the Marley men and the subtle yet powerful Deryni controls exerted by the two noblemen to coax the outlaws to surrender themselves peacefully, the party made their slow progress towards the City gates. The captured brigands were bound together, making escape next to impossible, and once the group reached Bishop's Gate, additional guardsmen scurried forth to relieve the young Earl of his prisoners and assist in conveying them to the Castle. Ædwige offered a bit more resistance to her re-arrest at first, but with her powers temporarily stripped away and her shields down, and still feeling rather dizzy from whatever the brigands had drugged her with, she could do little more than offer a few feeble struggles and shouted curses until Sextus grew tired of trying to restrain her and sent her spiraling into deep slumber. He glanced up at Brendan afterward as he cradled the limp figure against his chest so she wouldn't slip off Murray's back in her sleep. "Intimate friendship, hm?" Sextus teased. "And _dearest?_ Maybe I should have let _you_ wrestle with her."

Brendan colored slightly. "It wasn't all _that_ intimate. Although she was aspiring to become the Countess of Marley at one point, I think."

"Was she, now? Good thing you're not that gullible; something tells me that if she ever tired of you, she'd have felt little compunction against making herself the Dowager Countess of Marley, especially if she thought she might have an opportunity to rise higher."

The young Earl laughed. "That presupposes that she'd be willing and able to kill a Duchess in order to free up a Duke for herself. Kelson's not exactly handing out duchies left and right. Or do you think she'd aim straight for Queen Araxie's throne?"

"Araxie's crown wouldn't fit her. I suspect Ædwige's head's grown far too big for even the royal fancy hats."

Brendan grinned as he passed Sextus to lead his small party of followers through the streets of Rhemuth City to the warmth and shelter that awaited them back at the Castle.

#

 _Rhemuth Castle Great Hall  
November 19, 1136_

King Kelson of Gwynedd regarded the bound prisoner with a wry smile, looking and sounding intimidatingly regal. "We see you've chosen to return to the hospitality of Our Court. Why are We not surprised?"

"I chose nothing of the sort, Your Majesty," Ædwige retorted, although her voice was somewhat subdued, and she gave a nervous glance upwards at the archers standing in the upper gallery, bows and arrows at the ready. "I was on my way to Stavenham as charged when your liegemen caught up with me and forced me to return."

"You mean when they re-arrested you after overhearing ample grounds for charging you with conspiracy to treason?" Kelson asked mildly.

"I never conspired with anyone to commit treason!" Ædwige exclaimed, looking affronted. "You can keep your bloody Kingdom; I want no part of it!"

Kelson steepled his fingers, studying his problematic prisoner for a moment. "It's true you didn't conspire to overthrow Our throne, and it's a very good thing for you that you didn't, as the method of execution that would call for would be especially unpleasant—it's meant to be a bit of a deterrent, you see—but We've been given to understand that you did make an offer to the wolf's head Royce of Pardiac to... what was it?... sell the future heir to Eddington to him, and suggested that We might be willing to pay extortion money to ransom your son back?" He raised an ebony eyebrow at her.

"No, it wasn't like that!" Ædwige protested. "I just... what I meant was... Well, you _had_ offered to pay passage for the baby to be returned to you! I just figured you'd still be willing to pay for his safe return! And... and I had to offer the man _something_ to distract him! He was planning to ravish me!"

"Hm, was he? Well, there's no accounting for tastes, although a man living constantly on the run probably gets pretty desperate." Kelson heard a stifled sound coming from beside him and shot a sidelong glance at his wife, who was looking at him with an expression of mingled disapproval and grudging amusement. "At any rate, you also agreed to participate in his scheme to use your Deryni talents to aid him in his villainous ends in exchange for his protection and a safe conduct to a port of your own preference, did you not?" Kelson's face lost its brief veneer of mild amusement and he leaned forward slightly, his gaze challenging. "You defaulted on the terms of Sanctuary _and_ agreed to conspire against Our Royal Person with a man you knew to be a wolf's head, for he made no secret of that fact. And what excuse do you mean to make for your behavior this time? Don't think for a moment you can simply gild the truth for me to make it seem prettier; Marley and Braxton both witnessed and overheard enough of your conversation with the outlaw leader to convict you, and they've shared those memories with Us as well. So what have you to say for yourself now?"

Ædwige contemplated her options in stony silence, her chin lifting proudly. At last she offered, "I have done only what any other woman would have done in my place. All I've ever done, I've done simply to protect myself and so I could be free to live according to my own choices."

"Is that so?" The King studied the woman before him. "In that case, We suppose it is Our responsibility as your liegelord to see that you have no more need to take such drastic actions to protect yourself and your selfish choices in future." He glanced at Prince Nigel and Duke Alaric, standing at the ready nearby. "Ædwige, lately Dowager Lady of Eddington, it is Our sad task to proclaim judgment upon you for your most recent actions. You shall be returned to Rhemuth Keep, there to live out your remaining days until the birth of your son, whereupon you shall be released into the executioner's hands. Had you simply allowed Us to try you properly the first time around, the sentence for your original crimes would have been a swift death by the headsman's sword, but unfortunately you chose to take a different course, and thus you've earned more onerous consequences. The usual penalty for conspiracy and high treason for a woman is, unfortunately for you, a fiery death at the stake, although at least as a woman you'll be spared from being hanged, drawn and quartered as is generally the case for men—is that correct, Master Jankin?" He glanced at Court executioner, who nodded in affirmation. "We've never had to execute a woman on the grounds of high treason before. Catrin of Meara certainly could have warranted it, though at least in her case there were a few extenuating circumstances that allowed me to commute her sentence to a life of seclusion in a convent. Unfortunately, given your history, you give Us little reason to hope that you would retire to such an exile peacefully without attempting to escape my justice a second time. And at any rate, We did warn you before you left for Stavenham that you would be entitled to no further mercies from this Court if you chose to violate the terms of Sanctuary, did We not, Ædwige?"

Master Jankin bowed deeply. "Sire, I beg your pardon, but it's traditional to ease a woman's suffering by allowing her to be strangled by means of a long rope just before the fire actually reaches her. Do you wish to allow her that small mercy, Your Majesty, or should I withhold the rope as well?"

Kelson gave the subject cowering before him the faintest ghost of a grim smile. "The prisoner shall be allowed to make that choice for herself, since she seems so enamored of forging her own path rather than allowing others to govern her behavior. _If_ she behaves herself with proper decorum between now and her execution, she may have the easier death. However, if she should prove unable or unwilling to conduct herself with proper restraint, then We shall view her actions as proof of her choice to endure a more difficult death." He skewered the woman before him with his steely gaze. "Since you've more than amply demonstrated that you prefer to make your own choices, for good or for ill, that decision is yours alone to make now, Ædwige Ælfredsdōhtor lately of Jenas and Danoc."


	36. Part II--Chapter 27 (Epilogue)

**Epilogue**

 _Saint Hilary's Basilica, Rector's Study  
December 15, 1136_

Duncan McLain, Auxiliary Bishop of Rhemuth, grinned widely as he lowered the letter he was reading. "Mirjana's been safely delivered of another daughter," he said aloud. "She was born on the Feast of Saint Nicholas, ten days ago."

The chamber's other occupant looked up from her study of one of the ancient manuscripts that Father Nivard had brought by for their perusal earlier that afternoon. "That's wonderful! Does your son mention what they've named her?"

"They've christened her Kelwynne. Kelwynne Maryse MacArdry McLain."

"A namesake for Maryse, then. She'd be glad of that, I imagine," Helena said, smiling at the joyful grandfather as she reached a hand absently up to rub at her aching neck.

"Yes, I imagine she is," Duncan said. Noticing Helena's discomfort, he arched an eyebrow at his beloved. "You've spent quite enough time studying and not nearly enough moving around. Shall we take a break? Maybe we can walk out for just a bit." He stood, casting his senses beyond the chamber briefly as he walked toward her, stopping behind her bench to lift the lower edge of her wimple just enough to slip a hand beneath it and ease the tension in her taut muscles with his supple fingers. She leaned back into the massage briefly, her eyes drifting shut.

"It's growing a bit late for a walk on the Castle wall, isn't it?" Helena murmured. "Although that does sound delightful; it's been a while since we've managed a proper outing together. Tomorrow, mayhap, if you're not too busy then?"

He spared a brief thought for the next day's schedule. "I might be able to rearrange things to free up a little bit of time." He sensed Brother Everard heading up the corridor towards them and ceased his ministrations, settling onto a nearby stool instead and pulling another one of the manuscripts closer. "Did that help ease the tension a bit?"

"It did. Thank you."

A sandy-haired head peered into the study. "Master Janos's apprentice stopped by earlier this evening and asked that you be given this," Brother Everard informed him as he handed the rector a small leather-bound diptych of wax tablets. "He said it contains the ingredients and proportions for the drug that the wolf's head Royce of Pardiac used to temporarily disrupt Ædwige's use of her powers when she made her flight from Rhemuth last month. The brigand apparently didn't reveal _all_ of his secrets when the King's Guard apprehended him last week, but he revealed enough for Master Janos to piece together the rest of the formula."

"Ah, yes." Duncan untied the thin leather thong securing the elaborately carved ivory covers and peered at the inscribed notes inside. "The King was rather curious about that tincture, and he's far from the only one. The women charged with Ædwige's care would much prefer a conscious prisoner who can look after her own hygiene, I imagine, and this tincture added in with a less powerful sedative than the King's physicians currently have her on ought to keep her awake enough to take care of her own basic functions while still preventing her from being able to access her Deryni powers. And maybe now Sextus Arilan will stop pestering me for daily updates on Janos's progress. Thank you; I'll be sure to share this formula with them once I've deciphered Janos's scribbling."

The Schola's scrivener nodded and left, hardly sparing a glance at Helena. Duncan turned to her in mild surprise. _Is the romance over?_ he teased. _Everard didn't even look at you the entire time he was here, much less give you calf eyes!_

Helena suppressed a grin. _I'm afraid I gave him too much of a taste of what he thought he wanted,_ she explained.

 _What do you mean?_

She stifled a laugh. _I agreed to go walking out with him a few days ago and spent most of the afternoon filling his head with far more than he ever wanted to know about Airsid esoteric practices and the mathematical principles underlying ritual magic. Oh, and comparative theologies. I have_ you _to thank for that last topic._

Duncan grinned. _Happy to have been of service, then. Though I'm a bit jealous, I think; that sounds like my notion of a perfect afternoon with you!_

Helena smiled back. _I figured it would, especially if we could throw a horse or two into the picture along with a nice meal and a flask of Fianna wine or some ale. I think it was all rather above Everard's head, though, poor dear. The last time I saw him, he was casting a few speculative looks at the greengrocer's daughter. She may have even been looking back._

"Good," Duncan said aloud, his Deryni senses assuring him that Everard was now well out of earshot again.

"We're alone again?" Helena asked quietly, barely above a whisper.

"For the moment," he affirmed. "Or at least as alone as we ever seem to manage." The sound of playing children filtered through from outside the Basilica walls, and he gave her a wry smile.

"Good. In that case..." Helena tilted her head at him. "I've been wondering, and I suppose it's as good a time to ask you as any, what _are_ we, _cariad?_ "

He gave her a puzzled and somewhat amused look. "Deryni?" Duncan grinned. "What do you mean, heart?"

She laughed softly. "I meant, what are we to each other? That is... well... we can't ever marry, obviously, and we're certainly not lovers. At least not in the way people generally mean by that." Her cheeks turned slightly rosy as she dropped her gaze from his. "But we're also far more than just friends. So what _would_ you call two people in our position?"

"Ah." Duncan pondered the question. He wasn't certain how to answer it. 'Friends' or even 'best friends' both seemed rather weak terms to encompass all that they had become to one another. Their relationship was much more intimate than that now, yet 'intimates' seemed to imply a far greater physicality to their union than either of them would allow, given their circumstances. 'Anamchara' had other connotations that had been far more applicable in Catriona's case than in Helena's; it implied a 'soul-friend' of a somewhat different kind, a spiritual mentorship of sorts.

But wait... Perhaps he had an answer for her after all.

"We're soulmates, heart."

She nodded. "Soulmates," she repeated, testing the sound of the word. "Yes, I think that works." She rose. "Well, I suppose I'd better head back to the Tower before Tessa comes looking for me. Shall we take that walk tomorrow, and if so, when and where did you have in mind?"

Duncan considered the question. "I have a brief bit of business at the Cathedral tomorrow, and as I recall, you wanted to poke around a bit in the Episcopal archives. What if I accompany you there, and once I'm done with my business we can return to the Castle together by way of Market Row?"

She laughed. "Only if you leave your coin pouch at home, Duncan McLain! It's too close to Twelfth Night, and I _know_ you!"

"That's fine. I'm the Auxiliary Bishop of Rhemuth, after all; I'll just have the tradesmen send their bills to me here." He favored her with an impish grin as she walked toward the study door.

#

 _Rhemuth Keep  
April 1, 1137_

The pains racked her entire body, and Ædwige bit a knotted rag to keep from screaming. They'd taken away the sedative they'd been forcing down her until now, damn the bastards—that might have helped to dull the pain, only the midwife had said she needed her full energy to push this brat out of her—so the King had ordered that she should not be given more until after the child was born. But the royal physician had given her another draught instead, one that she'd gulped down greedily in hopes that it would help to ease the waves of torment that rippled through her abdomen, but it hadn't. It was just that same damnable _sorcha_ -laced wine that the brigand Royce of Pardiac had given her. Well, not the _exact_ same wine—that had been used up long since—but the same formula he had once used on her to prevent her from accessing her Deryni gifts. Even at this moment, with her body racked with labor pains, the King refused to allow her the full use of her faculties.

It was probably just as well. Had she been able to call up the necessary energies, Ædwige might have set fire to the entire bloody Keep in her impotent rage at her helpless state—a prisoner at the mercy of a sadistic Court, kept behind locked doors on the uppermost floor of an impenetrable tower, and worst of all, trapped in a woman's body in the most vulnerable state she could imagine any woman ever being in. Damn Gilrae's soul to eternal perdition for doing this to her!

Another contraction nearly made her cry out, and she bit the rag again, this time tasting her own blood. She'd been in labor now for hours; she had lost count of how many. Had it been two days already since the first mild pains began? She was certain that more than one full day had passed, yet no matter what she did, this baby would not come. A birthing stool had been brought in, and when the child continued to tarry, they had tried twisting her this way and that, and even forced her to walk around the room ceaselessly, in hopes that the exercise would speed her labor and ease her pain, as if she were some colicky horse. At last she had nearly collapsed from exhaustion, and they had allowed her to return to her bed, her head propped up with pillows, but still Gilrae's brat would not come.

It was a wonder he was not yet dead, she'd labored so to bring him forth, with so little result, yet still she felt his life force, felt the occasional movement within her belly even now, though only faintly. Was this somehow Gilrae's revenge upon her, somehow using his child to kill the woman who had once killed him? She wouldn't put it past him, but no, surely that had to be a mere fancy. Such a thing was impossible, even for a Deryni, and Gilrae was no Deryni.

Another pain racked her frame, and this time a scream escaped her despite her best efforts to stop it.

#

"Your Majesty, we've done all we know to do, but the problem is that the mother is quite small framed and her baby is too large to fit through her narrow hipbones. She's quite likely to die from exhaustion trying to push him out, and her lengthy exertions are harmful for the child as well. If she dies first, we _might_ be able to save her son if we cut him out of her womb quickly, but there's no way to know for sure." The Court's senior midwife curtsied deeply before the King, her face haggard.

"How much longer do you think her body is likely to keep trying to birth the child before it gives up entirely?"

"That's hard to say, Your Majesty. The woman is a fighter; that much is in her favor. But for every extra hour that passes, the child grows weaker." She paused, looking as though she was pondering something she was reluctant to say, then told him, "The alternative, if you'd prefer to try to save the mother, is that if the child should die within her womb, we can then try to cut him up inside of her and bring him out piece by piece. Though even then, there is a great risk to the mother; sometimes in our efforts to deliver her of the dead child, we end up doing mortal harm to her in the process. However, it's sometimes the mother's only chance of survival if a child dies within her and she is unable to bring him forth the usual way."

Kelson buried his face in his hand, feeling a bit queasy. He was glad Araxie wasn't here to hear this; she was with child again. He wished he didn't have to listen to this litany of complications that could threaten not merely Ædwige of Eddington but any woman of childbearing age if the conditions were just right—or, he supposed in this case, if they went entirely wrong. But he collected his composure; he had a choice to make.

"No, the utmost priority should be to save the child if at all possible. Don't forget that the mother's life is already forfeit, even if she should survive the birth." He considered the options, sighing heavily. "If she is heavily sedated, would you be able to cut the baby out quickly?"

"We could, I suppose, but..." The midwife looked uncertain. "I've never cut a child from a living mother, so I haven't any practice in sewing one back up again. You'd need a surgeon to do that."

"I have Deryni Healers I could call upon if need be."

"Aye, Your Majesty, that might well work, if she doesn't bleed out first, but even with the best precautions, I'm not sure I could guarantee she won't sicken later from a purulent wound, if not childbed fever..."

Kelson nodded. "I think, under the circumstances, that will be the least of her worries," he reminded the woman as gently as he could. " She won't be remaining alive long enough for such complications to be an issue, just long enough to face judgment for her crimes, assuming she survives this birth."

"Oh. Why yes, of course." This time it was the midwife's turn to look vaguely ill. "We will do what we can to spare the child, if it's not too late already."

"That's all I ask. Thank you."

He dismissed the midwife, who followed her escort out of the withdrawing room. Kelson glanced up at Duke Dhugal, who stood nearby, having witnessed the exchange in mute silence. He gave his old friend a wry smile. "Have I done the right thing?" he asked. "I'm half tempted to just let the woman die in childbed, or at least from the aftereffects of such a birth, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to see this through, aren't I?"

Dhugal settled onto a nearby bench, gave Kelson a sympathetic smile. "Aye. No matter what you do, I suppose the choice is going to be a right bitch." A corner of his mouth quirked as a sudden thought occurred to him. "Just like Ædwige, come to think. Although at least this way, you've given the wee lad a fighting chance. And there's no way you can allow Ædwige to live, not after all she's done, not knowing what she'd continue to do given half a chance."

"No, I can't." Kelson grimaced. "Although a public execution of the sort I'd planned for her coming on the heels of such a birth is going to make me look like a right tyrant, isn't it? No matter how well deserved it is or how much she's done to earn it, there will be those who will only see what _she'll_ want them to see—a lovely young woman who has endured the most hellish travails of childbed any woman might fear to experience, and who survives the ordeal—assuming she _does_ survive it—only to face another sort of hellish end." He shook his head. "I almost hope she doesn't survive the midwife's knife."

"She might not." Dhugal clasped his hands between his knees, studying them for a long moment. "You know, Kel, just because the fiery stake is the traditional form of execution for high treason, that doesn't mean it's the only option. You've made an exception before."

Kelson looked up sharply. "I have, but I also told Ædwige I'd show her no further mercies."

"And so you have. Though I'm thinking there might be another form of execution that would be, if anything, _more_ fitting to the lady's crimes, not to mention less likely to generate public sympathy than seeing a woman recently delivered of child bound and burned in the public square."

"I'm certainly open to suggestions."

#

 _Rhemuth Castle  
April 3, 1137_

Ædwige felt numb both physically and mentally as she was led forth before the King. She was still too weak to walk, and so she'd been carried outdoors into the upper bailey of the castle, where a small crowd of witnesses gathered.

"Would you like to make your confession before a priest before you meet your end, m'lady?" Master Jankin the executioner asked her. It was standard practice to make the offer. She'd been given other opportunities to have a priest brought to her—none, of course, to visit the Chapel Royal or any other consecrated ground!—but had not availed herself of those previous opportunities, even when she'd been offered a chance to seek atonement for her sins as her first labor pangs had begun. But this would be the final time she would be asked, so the executioner repeated the offer, just in case she was too drowsy from her sedation to understand what he had said the first time around.

But Ædwige's understanding was clear enough on that matter. No, she had no need to repent of any sins, for she had committed none. God would accept her as she was, and would certainly understand what she'd had to do, she was convinced of this now, and had no more fear of meeting death unshriven as she'd once had. Was it just a few months before that she'd sought out Father Shandon and instead found Father Nivard? It felt like another lifetime ago. What a silly child she'd been to worry so! There was nothing wrong with anything she'd ever done; the fault lay in the rest of the whole bloody messed-up world. But God would understand. Either that, or He wasn't the all-knowing and good being she'd always been taught, and if He wasn't, then Heaven wouldn't be worth bothering about, would it? If there _was_ a Heaven. Whatever happened to her, though, and no matter where she ended up if there really was an afterlife, at least Ædwige would have one consolation: she'd got there on her own terms. And that's all that really mattered in the end, wasn't it, being free to live her own life as she wished? This wasn't the way she'd hoped things would turn out, but they'd never managed to control her, so in a different sort of way she'd still won.

"I don't need a priest. I have no guilty stains upon my conscience." _You have no conscience at all_ , she thought she overheard someone mutter, but she ignored him.

A flask was brought to her. She stared at it uncomprehendingly at first, then laughed.

"What, you think my powers will suddenly return when the flames are burning all around me? I'm not stupid enough to think you're offering to put me into even more of a stupor so I won't feel the pain!" She'd had to concentrate to get the words out without slurring, yet she'd managed. Another victory.

"No, Ædwige. This is your final choice. You can die at the stake, as you were originally sentenced. Or you can choose this other option."

She stared at the flask, then tore her gaze away to look quizzically at the King, her eyes bright with hatred. "You said no more mercy, remember?"

"So I did. And I assure you, I still stand by my word."

She returned her attention to the flask. "What's in it, then?"

"Mortweed."

Ædwige paled, but took the flask with shaking fingers and brought it to her lips. _They_ couldn't kill her. _They_ weren't worthy to. She'd take that victory from them as well.

#

Her bitterness was all-consuming now, like an icy inferno. No, not simply her own bitterness but the potion's as well, the foul taste of the tincture making her grimace as it went down, the liquid burning her way into her core like a shaft of frost, then spreading out with frigid fingers to chill her entire being.

She fell, although she didn't feel herself do so, but her eyes, frozen open, suddenly found themselves fixed upon blue sky. Was this how Gilrae had died? It felt horrible, though not nearly as bad as it might have. There was little pain to speak of, simply a growing cold numbness.

She supposed her breathing would stop first, and then her heart, but when both continued, she grew confused. She attempted to glance at the King, at anyone who might be able to explain what was happening to her, but her eyes remained locked on the sky.

"It's a older dose than the one she gave her husband, I'm afraid," she heard a woman's voice explain. "The apothecary said this batch was mixed two seasons ago, and that it might take longer for it to be fully effective, but it was all he had in stock. He's taken to formulating less lethal poisons for use in rodent control." Did that voice belong to Sister Therese, perhaps? That would make sense; of all the women at the Castle, she'd know the most about poisons and dosages.

"But it will still work?" she heard the King's voice ask.

"Oh yes," the woman replied. "Eventually. No one survives mortweed poisoning at this dosage. Though she may linger in this state for another few hours before the very end. Or possibly even a day or two. I really couldn't say; I'm afraid I've got far more knowledge of curatives than of poisons."

Ædwige felt the cold spread completely throughout now, and even her staring eyes within their sockets felt like twin spheres of ice, though at last her vision began to dim, until the clear blue sky above paled to frost gray and then to black. Yet through it all, as her mind seemed trapped within her frozen body, her hearing still remained.

"Sire," she heard another voice say, this time a man's voice. "If it should please Your Majesty, I would request a boon. It has to do with the disposition of my late brother's widow's body and how justice might be rendered towards Eddington."

"If your request is just and within my power, Lord Robert, I will consider it. What is it that you wish?" she heard the King answer.

Her brother-in-law spoke up again. "I ask that Ædwige be entombed this very day."

A slight pause. "Perhaps you didn't understand what the infirmarian was saying, but I'm afraid your former sister-in-law is not yet dead."

"I realize that, Your Majesty. And neither was her house guest Sister Helena, when Ædwige sought to bury her alive on manorial grounds. That murderous act and her manipulation of our steward's mind reflected badly upon the hospitality of all our household, and it was a slight upon the family honor that I would see rectified. I only ask that the vicious bi—that Ædwige be treated accordingly to how she treated others during her life. I believe that is just and fair, Sire."

Ædwige wanted to scream, but of course she could not. Her body was no longer her own.

A longer pause, then "Do you wish her returned to Eddington, to be buried in your family's crypt?"

"No, my liege. Her own family may have her back, if they're willing, or she may rot—or given the circumstances, _not_ rot—in a pauper's grave for all I care. She might not survive the trip back to Danos. Is there no tomb in Rhemuth where she may be safely left until her soul has departed her body?"

Another voice spoke up then. "Her father has already stated that he'll not accept her back. We had planned on interring her remains in Potter's Field."

A pauper's grave, with not even a proper marker to show others where she lay? Buried beside common beggars and the like? Ædwige's mind struggled to protest, but her body was already still as death.

A female voice, tinged with horror, "Your Majesty, I think Ædwige can still hear us!"

The touch of a mind brushing hers, quickly withdrawn. "Yes, she's still fully aware. Sister Therese, are you absolutely _certain_ that death is imminent? Her soul won't be trapped in this state for more than a day or two at most?"

"No more than that, Your Majesty. Probably not even that much. Perhaps no longer than poor Helena had to lie half buried, wondering if she'd survive to see the morning light."

A longer pause. "So be it, then. Lord Robert, I shall grant your boon. Master Jankin, have the grave made ready."

#

 _Rhemuth Castle  
April 5, 1137_

"I know that you have been given great cause to resent and even hate the woman who gave this child life, Lord Robert," the King said to the regent for Eddington, "but as he is now the heir to Eddington by right of his late father's birthright, I must ask if you are _certain_ you will be able to give him the true and loyal service due to your brother's blood-heir if I give him into your keeping as your ward?

"I so swear, Your Majesty. He may have been bred on that she-wolf Ædwige, but he is still Gilrae's son, and that redeems him in my eyes. I vow by all that is holy that I will raise my nephew as if he were my own son."

Kelson of Gwynedd Truth-Read his subject's words and found no trace of guile in them. He glanced at the Earl of Danoc, nodding in satisfaction. Danoc stepped forward.

"Your Majesty... Lord Robert... if it should meet with your favor, I would be willing to take the boy into fosterage at my own Court when he is old enough, so that he might be well trained up in the duties he'll be expected to learn both as my vassal and as the future Lord of Eddington."

The elderly regent for Eddington smiled at his lord and longtime friend. "I believe Gilrae had intended to ask you to be the lad's godfather, Earl Aubrey. Would you be willing to accept that responsibility as well?"

The Earl looked away briefly, blinking away sudden tears before he answered. "Your brother was not merely my vassal, Robert, he was a dear friend, as you well know. I... would count it an honor to stand as godfather to his son."

#

 _Rhemuth Castle—the Duke of Cassan's apartments  
April 15, 1137_

"So, now that Easter Court has come and gone, how much longer will you be in Rhemuth before you head home to Cassan?" Duncan asked his son.

Dhugal grinned at his father over his tankard of ale. "Why, are you tired of seeing me already?"

Duncan laughed. "You know I'm not!" He cradled his youngest granddaughter Kelwynne against his shoulder, one hand stroking the downy cap of raven hair that crowned it, watching with rapt fascination as her tiny rosebud lips suckled the air even as she slept. Helena had noticed earlier that the baby's eyes appeared to be turning even more vibrantly blue than the more grayish-blue quite commonly seen on newborns, and she suspected that Duncan's youngest grandchild had inherited his vivid McLain eyes. As she watched, he leaned over to brush a tender kiss on the infant's petal-soft forehead and carefully handed her back to her mother.

Across the room, his elder granddaughter Trina looked up from where she was playing with her brothers Duncan Michael and Jared. "Sing us another song, Da!"she called out.

"Nay, I think it's someone else's turn to sing or play. You've got your hands free now, Father; I think it's your turn, isn't it?" Dhugal passed the gittern he'd been playing earlier, placing it within Duncan's reach. "Sister Helena, would you pass him the quill, please?"

Duncan picked up the stringed instrument, placing his fingers experimentally on its short neck as he accepted the plucking quill from Helena. He glanced up at Dhugal. "I've not handled one of these in so long, son, I'm not sure I even remember how to play one."

"If you've got a bone whistle, he can play that well enough," Helena offered. "I've heard him."

Duncan grinned. "Only if you don't mind hearing 'The Merry Maids of Ballymar'! It's the only song I remember how to play on it!"

"Well, I don't have a bone whistle handy," Dhugal said, "but I can play 'The Merry Maids of Ballymar' on the gittern well enough if you want to sing along. _That_ should make a nice change of pace from your usual plainsong chants." Amber eyes teased the bishop over the tankard's rim.

"Dhugal!" Mirjana stared at her husband, looking torn between amusement and horror. "The _children!_ "

Duncan roared with laughter. "I think not, son. At least not until well after your weans are in their beds, and you'd probably need to get me quite in my cups first if you expect me to belt _that_ song out in front of the ladies!" He took a sip from the half-empty tankard beside him before shooting his daughter-in-law a teasing glance. "And perhaps not until your wife is well enough recovered from Kelwynne's birth to deal with _you_ again after your mind's been filled with bawdy ballads! I wouldn't want her to kill me."

Dhugal gave him a look of injured innocence. "Well enough recovered? It's been four months already, Father; Mirjana's not _that_ fragile!"

"Sister Helena, would you like to see the lovely cambric and lawn I picked up at Rhemuth Market yesterday? Come, children, let's show Sister what we found at Market, and then you can kiss your Papa Duncan goodnight and start getting ready for bed," Dhugal's young duchess said brightly, her cheeks flushing a becoming shade of rose. Helena stifled a laugh, shooting the two men an admonishing glance as she stood to follow the younger woman out of the room, the two younger children following obediently if rather reluctantly in their wake. Seven-year-old Duncan Michael lingered wistfully in the doorway, looking back at his father with a pleading look until a nod from Dhugal and a pat on the bench seat beside him brought a grin to the oldest boy's face and he scurried over to his sire's side, grateful not to be sent off into exile with the womenfolk.

As the door closed behind them, Helena heard Duncan pluck out a few experimental notes on the gittern as he began to hum a lilting Border melody.

#

"Father tells us you are planning another visit to Llannedd to visit your family during the summer break," Mirjana said quietly as she handed baby Kelwynne and the two older siblings over to a nurse for their nightly ablutions. "Will you be leaving as soon as the Schola term is over, or waiting until closer to the beginning of the next term?"

Helena ran an admiring finger over the duchess's newly purchased fabric. "Oh, earlier, I should think! I waited until nearly too late in the break last summer, and ended up missing the first week of lessons before my return. Princess Rothana was gracious enough to cover those classes for me, but I should hate to presume upon the other magistri's good will again this year, so I was thinking of leaving for Llannedd as soon as the term ends in early June."

"Ah. Then will you be staying in Llannedd the entire summer, or is it possible you will be back in Rhemuth by the early part of August?"

"I... haven't actually planned that far ahead yet." Helena tilted her head at Duchess Mirjana curiously. "Why?"

Dhugal's wife gave her a shy smile. "If you are back by then, and should like to escape the southern heat, you would be very welcome to visit us in Ballymar. At least I _think_ we are planning to spend August in Ballymar; we might be at Castel Dearg in Kierney instead, but in either case, the heat should be a fair bit milder there than here in Rhemuth that time of year."

"It would definitely be cooler up north than in Llannedd!" Helena agreed, a bit puzzled by the unexpected invitation, for while she quite liked the young Duchess of Cassan, Mirjana was still more of a friendly acquaintance than a close personal friend. "Are you sure I wouldn't be in the way, though?" she asked.

"Oh no, I should welcome another woman's company!" Mirjana blushed slightly. "I've had a few years to grow accustomed to my lord's land and people, and I've made some friendships in Cassan and Kierney, but every time we visit Rhemuth, I always miss it when it comes time for us to return home." She shrugged. "There are more ladies at Royal Court... at least, more here that I share common interests with, but most have their own homes to return to as well at the end of the High Court seasons. So it would be most pleasant to have a house guest during the middle of the year, between our visits to Rhemuth."

Helena nodded, gave Mirjana an empathetic smile. "Yes. I remember what it was like for me when I first moved to Joux. It was easier for me to make friends at Court than after my marriage, when we returned to Gaston's castle. The womenfolk there were ready enough to offer me welcome, but there were only a few of them, and his lands were rather isolated."

"Then, you will come?" Mirjana smiled back. "Father is planning on visiting us around that time also. I am sure he would enjoy showing you his boyhood haunts." The duchess's gaze held hers, her lovely ice-green eyes searching Helena's face.

Helena fought back a blush. Was _that_ why Dhugal's wife was inviting her to visit? Did they know, or perhaps simply suspect, the depth of the bond that had grown up between her and the Duke's father? "I... will think on it, Your Grace, but... are you _certain_ I shan't be intruding on a private family occasion? Father Duncan takes his holidays away from the Schola so very rarely, and... well, it might look rather awkward if we were to both go up to Cassan together. Others might misconstrue."

Mirjana nodded, glancing back at the closed door beyond which her husband and his father sat. The plucked strains echoing back at them, Helena suddenly recognized, were the opening notes of a love song she'd heard sung at Twelfth Night feast by a visiting troubadour. Duncan—if that was still him playing the gittern—plucked at the notes inexpertly but competently enough, and she could barely discern the low tones of quiet singing through the thin wooden door between them. She called her attention back to what the duchess before her was saying. "Yes, I realize that it might cause talk if _he_ were to invite you to travel to Cassan with him, but _I_ am inviting you instead. You may plan your visit for a few days earlier or later than his if you would prefer. Though I should think _he_ would very much enjoy it if your visits should happen to... overlap a bit." Mirjana gave the older woman a tentative smile. "If you are worried about what anyone in Cassan or Kierney might think, I would of course arrange for you to have guest accommodations in a separate wing of our apartments from where Father normally stays when he is visiting."

"That... would definitely help, Your Grace." _In more ways than one!_ Helena thought.

#

They walked back to the Basilica through the castle parklands together afterward, enjoying the return of relatively mild evenings and starry skies after the blustery cold and cloud-shrouded nights of winter.

"So, did your son ever get around to telling you when he and his family are planning on heading back to Cassan?" Helena asked.

"At the end of this week," Duncan told her, "although they'll be stopping for a couple of months in Transha along the way."

"Her Grace invited me to visit them in Cassan or Kierney at the height of the summer," Helena told him. "At around the same time as your visit." She sensed a start of surprise through the link between them. Ah, so he _hadn't_ orchestrated the invitation, then! She risked a quick glance up at him.

" _Did_ she now?" Duncan looked thoughtful for a long moment, then his features broke into a sheepish grin. "Good."

They continued to walk together in companionable silence, a proper distance between them yet inextricably linked soul to soul.

# # #


End file.
